


kiss me slowly

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, M/M, Pining, Porn With Plot, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the extra touching thing that Liam has with Louis isn't anything really. It's just so Lou can hear him when they're in a crowd, just so Lou knows that what Liam has to say is important. It's nothing really. Until it is and Louis doesn't quite know what to do with that. High School AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. its just a touch

**Author's Note:**

> WIP-ing this because of all the reasons. It's virtually complete so one chapter a week or less depending. HUGE thank you's to Avis/Fr333bird who sorts out all my britisms and crazy words and Su because she beta's fandoms she isn't even AWARE of and to my Sausage, because she's always telling me to keep going even when I hate things. 
> 
> Obvious Disclaimer that this is just fairy tales really. Nothing at ALL is real in here apart from names. Thats it.

**Kiss Me Slowly**

“Did you see Niall disappear upstairs with Josh?” Liam’s breath was a hot whisper against Louis’ ear and he smiled, nodding his head slightly so Li would know he’d heard.

Liam stepped closer, fingers sliding into the groove Louis’ tendons left from turning his head to the side. It wasn’t unusual for Liam to have his hand on Louis to gain his attention. One fingertip toyed with the soft hairs at the base of Louis’ neck as the others pressed in a little deeper, keeping Louis focused on where Liam would say things he wanted only Louis to hear.

It wasn’t weird. It was something Louis was used to, but before Harry mentioned something about it earlier that day in History Louis hadn’t really thought all that much about it. The extra touching Liam would have had with him and no one else wasn’t something to think on because it had always been that way. It wasn’t something to notice because it was just _them_. Liam and Lou had been friends since they were seven, when Liam’s mother had brought him across the road to Louis’ house and introduced him after Liam had first moved into the area.

Liam’s parents weren’t around much; both of them commuted to the city for work seven days a week, which meant Liam was often left with a variety of babysitters. It didn’t take long for him to gravitate toward the Tomlinson house. At the time Louis was one of three, and their house, although noisy, was filled with sound and love and laughter. Liam wasn’t a very affectionate child, but after years of practically living at Louis’—where hugs were given for no reason and kisses weren’t just for greetings, goodbyes, and goodnights—it had to rub off eventually.

So Louis never thought it was strange how Liam touched him more than he did anyone else. He never considered it unusual that Liam always pulled Louis in with a hand on his neck when he needed to talk.

Well, not until Harry pointed it out. He listed the different times and ways Liam would touch Lou, and that the most he’d ever noticed Liam being in physical contact with anyone else was when he was in a bout for the school boxing team. Louis laughed it off and changed the subject on their walk into class, reminding Harry of their current dare of Harry’s choosing. Their friends-with-benefits deal had recently taken on a new tone, with sexual dares to be completed within school hours; and while it was all for a laugh, Louis knew that Liam didn’t approve, and talking about Liam while Louis was contemplating the range of plots Harry would pick just felt strange. Wrong, even.

Louis had put it to the back of his mind, pretending to pay attention to Mr. Brixler as he droned on about what their next lesson contained. And it had worked, right up until Harry opened his mouth again, breathily spouting more evidence that Liam never went out of his way to touch anybody else and that he was sure Liam was harbouring some serious feelings for Lou. Only Harry would choose to continue a conversation right in the middle of a completely boring black and white war propaganda film they were supposed to be watching.

Not that either of them was paying attention, what with the room being darkened and their desks in the back corner shrouded from any stray onlookers while Louis’ hand was stuffed inside Harry’s trousers. Louis had rolled his eyes and squeezed Harry’s dick a little harder in the small space between his pants and skin, offering a simple “Do you want me to finish you off in the middle of class, or do you want to discuss my best friend and how that’s all he is, instead? This was _your_ idea, remember?” Harry had dropped it and Lou had continued with bringing Harry off but for the rest of the day he hadn’t quite forgotten what the other boy had mentioned.

But it was hours later now, and Louis was in that brilliant zone right between drunk and too drunk to function, with Liam’s thumb moving back and forth across his skin, and Louis felt the movement right down to his bones. It felt good; it always felt good but because of Harry, Louis was imagining that it felt even _better_. Louis found himself relaxing into Liam’s touch, leaning into the small space between them and feeling oddly safe as his side met Liam’s chest. Liam’s fingers tightened their hold for a moment and Louis thought he heard Liam’s breath hitch at the same time.

“Do you think Nialler is finally going to tell Josh how he feels?” Liam asked, and Louis shivered at the way Liam’s lips brushed faintly against the shell of his ear. This was stupid. This was just Liam. Liam who he played pirates with in his backyard. Liam who had beat him at every single version of Super Mario Kart they could get their hands on. Liam who had stuck up for him the year before when it came out that Louis was into boys. Liam who he’d hidden with under his Superman duvet to tell secrets to ever since he could remember. It was _Liam_.

Stupid Harry. Stupid Harry for making him notice things like this that shouldn’t be weird but felt _different_ now, all the same.

Then Liam squeezed his fingers once more, another soft brush of Louis’ hair, and that was it, really.

“Why do you do that?”

Liam looked at him with round eyes, his expression charged with surprise, and if Louis wasn’t mistaken—and after ten years of friendship he probably wasn’t—something a little like guilt.

“Do what?” His fingertips eased their pressure on Louis’ neck a little, an obvious sign that he knew exactly what Louis was talking about. 

Louis turned, ignoring the way the movement caused tingles to spread out from where Liam’s touch slid across his skin. “ _That_.” He tilted his head down, the side of his cheek brushing against Liam’s hand.

Liam shrugged but didn’t move. “It’s loud in here.”

“So you needed to hold onto me to talk, then?” Louis asked, biting at his lower lip because where Liam was still touching him burned and there was this strange twisting in his stomach that he didn’t understand.

Even in the dim lights of where they were located off to the side of the makeshift stage in the Styles living room Louis could see Liam’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as his friend swallowed hard. Louis wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to seeing his stoic, reliable friend so unstuck by a simple question.

Well, Louis had thought it was simple.

“No, I just—you never mentioned it.”

Louis chewed at the inside of his cheek. There was this air of awkwardness between them now and it hadn’t been there before. There never _had_ been any awkwardness between them, but now . . . . “Don’t worry about it, Li. It was something Harry said and you know how Harry is.” He tried to smile but it came out as more as of a grimace; he could feel his face fighting the move even as he attempted it.

“Yeah, I know, Harry,” Liam muttered, just loud enough for Louis to hear—well, it’s what he thought he heard because Liam had turned his face away and was focusing on where Aiden and Matt were setting up their instruments.

“Can’t upset _Harry_ now, can we?” he muttered again, but Louis caught it this time, having turned himself into Liam’s space.

“What does that mean?” Louis asked, his tone a little more cutting than he’d ever used with his friend, had never had cause to before now. Liam shifted backward quickly, his hand shaking slightly at his side as the apples of his cheeks pinkened. So it _was_ something, then, was it? Liam shrugged, his foot tapping awkwardly in a tic Louis knew well enough meant he was either embarrassed or nervous. Or in this case, both.

“Li—”

“It’s nothing. I didn’t realise—um, look, I just won’t do it again. Any more. Um, is that Zayn over there? I think it is,” and he nodded to the opposite side of the room and disappeared into the gathering crowd, not turning when Louis called his name. The band started up then and Louis sighed. Harry’s guttural tone rumbling out over the speakers as he sang about not being hasty made Louis wonder if he’d been just that.

%%%

“Loolah la lola loo loolay.”

Louis opened his eyes and looked down to where Harry was gazing up at him, his mouth full of Louis’ cock and apparently trying to hold a conversation. Louis tightened his grip where he’d been scratching lightly over Harry’s scalp, his fingers threaded deep into thick brown curls. Harry pulled off with a loud, wet sound, his tongue swiping over his red, swollen lips, and Louis wondered exactly how this was part of their agreement.

“Liam,” Harry panted, pressing his lips to the tip of Lou’s dick again before licking a slow circle around the head where his hand had already drawn Louis’ foreskin back. “Liam was watching you today.”

Louis frowned. “What does that— _oh fuck, fuck_ —have to do with this— _Jesus, Harry!_ “ Louis could barely get the question out as Harry took him down to the root, his nose pressed up against the round of Louis’ belly. Louis could feel the tight squeeze of Harry’s throat muscles. Christ, the fact that Harry could deep throat and it got Louis off quickly was the only reason he’d agreed to do this in Mrs. Horsham’s tiny English Department office—at least that’s what the tiny two-by-two metre closet space was supposed to be.

They knew for a fact their favourite teacher wouldn’t be back until the end of their lunch break, and Harry had wanted to bloody eat before they ducked into the little room, so time was of the essence. Not that Mrs. Horsham minded them using her office. A mutual level of ignorance had built up between them in the past year—she pretended they didn’t use her office for a variety of sexual shenanigans, and they pretended not to see her having it off with one of the sixth form lads over end of year break, or to know that he was living with her now. The ability to keep tight-lipped on certain things gave the boys a little leeway. That, and she bought them ciders once in a while and Harry’s cousin Ed supplied her with dope when she needed it. It was a beneficial partnership on all sides.

Yet that had nothing to do with why Harry was yet again mumbling something, the hum of words travelling straight up Louis’ shaft and adding to the slow burn of imminent release at the pit of Louis’ stomach. Louis groaned, bucking lightly into Harry’s mouth before the sound of his friend choking reminded him to keep his hips still. Louis might have liked having his dick deep in Harry’s talented mouth, but having Harold vomit up the chips he’d scarfed down for lunch all over his privates wasn’t exactly on Louis’ lists of kinks to try with Harry. Not to say his list wasn’t a little out there—they’d crossed off a few things that made him blush and a few more that had Harry’s normally peaches and cream skin become red and splotchy. It was probably a good thing this “agreement” between them was just that—no feelings involved, just spectacular fucking between two willing participants when they had no other bodies/partners available.

Louis guided Harry back off again with the best frown he could muster under the circumstances; having Harry fondle his balls with one hand while the other was pushing into the purple bruise he’d left the day before on Louis’ hip didn’t help matters. “Can’t we talk after? Or is this some new thing you’re trying here, because I can tell you now I’d rather have a little less talk, a little more action.”

Harry was panting again, spit and precome covering his chin, and even his eyes had turned glassy, a tiny drop of liquid forming in the corners of each. “I just said he was watching you. A lot, today. You still haven’t talked since my party, have you? And that was three weeks ago.”

Louis shook his head. One hand clenched all the harder on the desk edge behind him as Harry’s finger slid between his legs, rubbing softly over tender, puckered skin. Louis’ eyes closed and his head tipped back as he spread his legs wider, wishing they had more time or that they’d bothered to take his trousers right off instead of leaving them pushed down to his knees. A little more room, a little more time—it was always the little things that got in the way with him and Harry. Little things like Harry being just that _little_ bit younger—if you could call one year’s difference young. There was also the fact Louis was most definitely gay, and Harold was that _little_ bit interested in girls. And right now, how Harry couldn’t stop talking about Louis’ best friend during any form of intimate moment between them. Well, the last part might have been just lately—but still, it was off-putting.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Louis said dryly. “What I _have_ noticed is you wanting to talk about him all the time. Is there something you want to tell me, Haz? Want me to suss Liam out and see if you’re the one to turn his head after all this time?”

Harry smirked and licked a stripe with the flat of his tongue up the underside of Louis’ dick, making Louis’ legs shake because he was close already and this stop-and-go was keeping him at the brink. 

“Fuck, come _on_ ,” Louis grunted, because he didn’t want to be thinking about why Liam might be looking at him. Didn’t want to think there might be a proper reason behind Liam basically avoiding him all week—or Louis doing the same, but he had been busy helping out his mother with his younger sisters. Not that his mother asked him for help, but what with his stepfather out of town with work at the moment, Louis felt it only right that he step up and pitch in.

His avoidance of his best friend certainly had nothing to do with Liam’s strange reaction at the party when Louis had brought up the touching. It had nothing to do with Liam spending a lot more time with Zayn lately—Louis absolutely did not know the exact number of times he’d seen Zayn drive Liam home (every day bar Thursdays, when Li had training). Or how many times Zayn’s car would stay out front, only to be used to take them both to school the next morning (funnily enough, the same number plus the added benefit of weekends).

Louis had most definitely _not_ noticed Zayn wearing Liam’s favourite school jumper in the halls earlier, the one with the holes at the wrist where he could poke his thumbs through instead of putting gloves on when it got chilly. If he’d pushed Harry into a nearby wall and snogged him senseless it was purely because he’d been wanting to do it all day—nothing more.

“You’ve been watching him, too,” Harry whispered, just taking just the head of Louis’ dick between his lips and driving Louis mad alternating between hard sucking and light licks over skin flushed dark with arousal. “You should just tell him,” Harry said, his finger still circling Louis’ hole with soft pressure. His other hand had left Louis’ thigh at some time to curl around his length and was pumping slowly and dragging out every moment of bliss.

“Tell him what?” Louis finally stuttered, managing to loosen his bottom lip from the grip of his teeth. When had Harry turned into such a talker? When they’d started this shag-partner _thing_ five months ago it was all giggles and groans followed by a kiss on the cheek and a “Thanks for that, mate.” There had never been any real discussion behind closed doors (or open ones, or in the stall at that club, or that one time in Harry’s parents’ room). That’s not to say they _didn’t_ talk, but it was always about bands they liked or gossip about teachers and students, or just shit really. Not this, not Liam and Louis and what may or may not be happening between them.

“What could I possibly have to say to him, Harold?”

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes then. “That his feelings are returned.” Before Louis could give out any of the answers he thought might be appropriate, Harry’s finger breached his hole, pressing that sweet spot that he’d found during previous explorations. At the same time, Harry’s mouth took Louis in, and then Louis was coming without having even a spare second to give his friend warning.

As Louis gripped the desk, blinking and trying to remember what day it was and even what his name was, he felt fabric being dragged up his thighs and managed a soft thank-you as Harry tucked him in and fussed around with Louis’ tie. The bell rang and Louis managed to grab at Harry as he fixed up the few buttons on his shirt that Louis had undone just to bite at Harry’s collarbones. He pressed their lips together and tried hard not to wince at the taste of himself on Harry’s tongue.

Harry had his hand on the door and Louis was a step behind him, as he attempting to tug his hair into some sort of artfully styled mess once more, when Harry turned back and looked at him. There was something serious in his green eyes, something Louis didn’t see often on his friend—what did Harry have to be serious about? So Louis paid attention because the look was so rare.

“Just—give it some thought, yeah? Bye, Louis.” And Harry was out the door, swallowed up by the crowd of students, leaving Louis to wonder how a simple blow job had turned into something like advice on relationships from the boy who avidly avoided them.

%%%

It was another week before he talked to Liam. And even then it was by accident—or pure motherly intervention.

Jay liked Liam. So much so that on the odd occasion when they were younger Louis had thought she might prefer his wavy-haired friend over her own flesh and blood. But those moments were few and far between (possibly helped out by a lot of whining on his part and Liam promising not to be so _good_ around her after he and Louis came to blows about it during the summer holidays when they were twelve). It wasn’t a surprise, then, when Louis’ mum was headed out for a “girls’ weekend away”, that she managed to get not only Louis but _Liam_ to look after the house and the girls while she was gone. Louis had made a case for being fine to do it on his own—they were _his_ sisters, after all. His mother had squashed that on the head with a simple raised brow and a reminder of the few times previously when she’d left them for the night and how each and every time Liam had been there for it. “Two heads are better than one when it comes to the twins, Boo. You know what they’re like.”

And he did.

For as much as Louis’ younger siblings had the faces of angels, they wore their halos around their toes once adults were out of earshot.

So that was how, at eight o’clock on a Friday night, Louis was in his room (not hiding, honest) when he heard the front door open and Fizz squealing her hellos to Liam before the other three was added to the equation. Louis figured he didn’t _really_ need to go down and say hi. He’d have all weekend to spend with his best friend who was currently giving him some sort of silent treatment—or maybe Louis was returning it or something. Whatever it was, they weren’t talking, which was going to make the weekend awkward, but Louis figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

Hopefully, sometime before three p.m. on Sunday when his mother was supposed to return.

“Boo?” His mother’s face appeared around the side of his door after a quick tap on the wood—there was no such thing as a completely closed door in the Tomlinson house. His mother didn’t like the idea of them being separated, and ever since Louis’ father had accepted a job that had him travelling more often, Louis understood how important it was for his siblings to feel like he was there if they needed him. Phoebe had finally stopped crawling into his bed in the middle of the night three months back, which had done wonders for Louis’ ability to return to sleeping in nothing once more—a man’s parts had a need to breathe fresh air after being confined for the day.

“Lou Bear?” his mother asked again.

Louis shook himself out of his daydreams and spun his desk chair around to face her. “Sorry, Mum. Coursework.” He nodded at the screen and the pile of textbooks he’d arranged on his desk earlier. It was completely plausible that he was going to be studying hard this weekend and wouldn’t have time for anything but the general business of looking after his sisters.

There would _definitely_ be no time for any of his and Liam’s usual sleepover antics. No time for planning practical jokes to pull on Niall involving food and his love of eating _anything_. No time for prank phone calls to Old Mr. Newell in the creepy house at the end of the street. No time for falling asleep against each other on Louis’ bed while they watched Disney movie marathons. No time for whispering new secrets while slipped under the relative safety of Louis’ ancient Superman duvet cover.

No. Louis was busy and would have had no time or inclination for any shenanigans.

Even if he was the one who usually instigated them, dragging a mostly unwilling Liam into the fray but laughing about it with that half-smile of his that Liam got sometimes.

Not that Louis noticed these things. Or had missed them over the past month and a bit.

Not that he’d seen Zayn be on the receiving end of one of them this afternoon when they were walking to Zayn’s car and Louis was half listening to Nick and Harry talk about some festival coming up that they wanted to go to. Nope. He hadn’t paid any attention to that at all.

So what if he was technically working on an assignment that wasn’t due for another week? It wasn’t completely unfathomable for Louis Tomlinson to do so; he may have been an average student with decent grades who most of the time returned homework a day late or argued about possible leeway to deadlines, but he could study, too, you know. Well, he could look at the books and rest his head on them, hoping to learn by some sort of magical osmosis.

But no one needed to know any of those things, and again his mother was staring at him like he was some sort of loon and he realised in all his musings that—again—he’d missed what she’d said.

“Louis, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. Maybe a good chat with Li can fix that, hey? I haven’t seen him ‘round much.” His mother stepped inside the room, letting go of her rollaway just outside the door and shutting it properly as she came in.

“No, well,” Lou started, at a loss for how to bring up something he wasn’t all that sure on about himself.

“Don’t tell me you two had a falling out.” His mother crossed her arms over her chest, all serious-business-looking—well, as serious-business as Jay Tomlinson ever got when it came to her eldest boy. Louis wondered if a comment about the black shirt he couldn’t quite recall seeing on her before might sway their conversation. “Louis.” His mother said his name again and Louis figured the answer to that line of distraction would be a no.

“Sort of. I don’t really know, to be honest,” Louis he said, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Oh, love,” she said, moving over to fiddle with his hair wrapping one arm around his shoulders. “You could have told me, you know. I can do this another time if you want, Boo bear. I should have checked with you properly. I just—”

“No, Mum.” Louis stopped her, tugging her hand away from his hair and holding it in his. He gazed up, noting the small lines at the corners of her lips, the dark circles he could still see under the makeup she’d put on, and the tiredness he could see everywhere else. “No, you deserve a break, Mum. Li and I . . . .” He shook his head and leaned into her one-sided embrace, breathing in the familiar floral scent of her perfume that he never failed to buy her every Mother’s Day and feeling the warmth that only her touch could bring. “We’ll sort it.” He said the last words with more conviction than he felt hoped it would be enough for his mum, who’d worked two jobs ever since his dad left, not stopping when she’d remarried, and had his sisters because she liked being _busy_.

He could feel her smile on his brow as she bent down to press a kiss there. “Okay, then. Your dad said he might be back from the conference early on Sunday morning; if not, you’ll have to fend for yourselves until I get home that night.” Louis nodded. They’d been over the details of both his parents’ absences several times that week. He knew the address of where both of them were staying off by heart, and the bloody phone numbers.

“Come see me off, won’t you?” she asked, tugging at where their hands were joined. Louis looked up and caught the same mischievous look that Fizz got when she wanted Lou to do something he probably wouldn’t want to, and he knew what his mother was getting at. If he came downstairs now he’d have to say hi to Liam, and not leave it for later so he could wait out that first awkward meeting until Liam either came upstairs to share Lou’s bed (which was what they’d always done) or the next morning when Louis would have to finally vacate his room to get breakfast.

“Whatever it is, Lou—whatever it is, you two can work it out. The pair of you have never been able to stay angry at each other for more than five minutes!” She laughed and Louis faked a smile because she was right. He and Liam never fought; any real disagreements usually ended up in tickle wars or agreeing to disagree. But this? This was different. This wasn’t whether Radiohead had completely screwed up with their last album, or whether socks were actually essential when wearing shoes, or over who would win the bloody Euro Cup. This wasn’t even an argument, and because it didn’t have a label it was harder to think of how to fix it.

“First step’s the hardest, sweetheart,” his mother said, tugging on his hand until Lou had no choice but to follow. “Get my bag, will you, love?” she sang out over her shoulder. Louis took a deep breath and tried to push his face into a neutral look. He rolled his eyes, grabbed at her bag, and almost fell across the hall with how bloody heavy it was.

“You’re going for two nights, Mother! How many pairs of shoes do you have in here?” he called out to her, smiling a little more naturally when he heard her familiar chuckle and quick comment back up the stairs.

Louis headed down after her, all the while reminding himself that it was just Liam. Just Liam who up until a month ago was his closest friend. Just Liam who up until a month ago had talked to him every day from sunup until sundown, and even then texted a goodnight before they went to sleep and a quick hello when either one of them woke first. Liam who he had never thought anything bad about ever, and didn’t think it was possible to, really.

Liam who he secretly missed, because as much fun as he had with Harry, Harry wasn’t one for long conversations about stupid things or for watching Toy Story for the thousandth time with or for just sitting in the quiet, watching the sun go down and the stars come up, content to just be there together. Harry wasn’t Liam, and neither was Niall or Josh or Nick or even bloody Ed, Harry’s slightly strange, always stoned cousin. There was only one Liam, and these past few weeks of silence had really made Louis see that.

As for the feelings he may or may not have had for Liam, to which Harry continually alluded—well, that remained to be seen. Because even if he _did_ have thoughts about Liam’s lips and how like but not-like Harry’s they were in relation to fullness, and would they be as soft, feel the same against his own? Even if he had wondered about the touching thing that had existed between them until he called Liam out on it, if it was more than general best friends being close—if it was because Liam _wanted_ to touch him. Even if he put those things aside, who was to say Liam thought of Lou like that? Thought about having something more, when as far as Louis knew Liam hadn’t been interested in anyone, ever. As Harry had often put it, Liam seemed to be utterly _un_ sexual—not heterosexual, not homosexual, not pan or bi or _any_ sexual. Just—not.

So why would Louis allow his thoughts to stray to possibilities of Liam and anything other than friendship? The only reason he had possibly entertained any of those ideas was because Harry had suddenly become unavailable in the sex department. He’d informed Louis a few days after their last tryst in Mrs. Horsham’s office that the deal they had no longer worked for him, and that was that. They still hung out, still partied together and got up to mischief on weekends, but as for the benefits side of their relationship, it was off the table.

Louis was horny, that was all. That was the only reason that his stomach clenched and his face heated when he turned at the bottom of the stairs and finally caught sight of Liam in his home. The fluttery feeling in his stomach was purely because he’d not gotten off to anything but his own hand in over a week—nothing to do with how everything felt like it swayed into slow motion the moment Liam started to turn in his direction. The swirl of spiking heat up his spine was . . . was . . . . Louis had no idea what to label it when Liam finally caught sight of him, too, and did that little half-wave of his. There was no definition for how Louis’ skin tightened into thousands of goosebumps when Liam’s warm brown eyes looked up at him from under hair he’d let grow out so it was more loose curls than waves now.

Jay had always cut Liam’s hair. Had their strange behaviour made Liam think he couldn’t even come to Louis’ mother for that?

Christ, they’d been utter tits.

Liam bit his lip as he shifted Daisy from one hip to the other; her hands waved about as she described something of obvious interest the only way she knew how—in dramatic fashion. His mother always said that Daisy was like a girly Lou at that age. Liam had laughed about it for a week straight, taking every opportunity to express himself with hands flailing about until Louis had promised to let slip over the school’s PA system that Liam still slept with his Woody _and_ Buzz dolls every night, and the teasing ended.

“Hey,” Louis said, his tongue almost tripping over the word, and he hated himself because— _hey?_

“Hey.” Liam smiled in return and Louis let out a breath he hadn’t completely known he’d been holding. _Hey_ was apparently good enough.

His mother came back in from the kitchen then, bustling past and making a fuss of each of her children (and Liam) in turn before reminding them both—

“The emergency numbers are on the bench beside the phone and Mrs. Teasdale and Mrs. Beales have keys in case you lock yourselves out,” Liam and Louis repeated in unison—they _had_ done this together a few times. It was enough for them both to grin at each other quickly before turning back to where Jay was smiling with her head tilted to the side, a look Louis couldn’t quite place. Then the horn honked again from the cabbie waiting outside.

“What would I do without my boys?” Jay said with a soft look that Louis _did_ understand. Then she turned and with a few more waves and goodbyes the cabbie had her bag stowed and the car departed to the sound of the girls calling out until it was out of view.

“’S’pose we should head inside?” Liam spoke and Louis jumped a little at the sound, the proximity even. He turned from rubbing his hands over his arms, the night air having cooled some. Louis blinked and looked around for his sisters.

“They’ve already gone in.”

“Oh,” Louis said, because how long had he been out here staring at the space where his mum’s cab had disappeared? Obviously long after his sisters had lost interest in saying goodbye to their mother. And yet here Liam was, waiting with him.

Liam breathed out hard, a sound that shouldn’t have had emotion but Louis heard an undercurrent of frustration or sadness in it. Was Liam actually angry with him? Louis had never factored in how Liam may have felt about their mutual silent treatment—maybe the reasoning that was no reason to Louis actually was one for Liam.

Maybe Liam was only here because Jay had asked him and not because he wanted to spend time with Louis. Maybe Louis would actually have to work at getting their friendship back to where it had been, before for whatever reason it had broken in the first place.

“Come on, Lou. Time to get your skinny arse inside,” Liam said, a hint of humour in his tone. It was something the Old Liam would have said, so Louis’ answer flew out of his mouth before he could censor it. 

“My arse resents that remark. It takes pride in its roundness and will not suffer insults to its character!”

Liam rolled his eyes. “I missed your arse having its own vocal representative,” he muttered as they turned back toward the house. The front door was open wide and sounds of an argument about what TV show to watch drifted out to them.

“My arse missed having conversations like this,” Louis said, feeling stupidly safer staying in this character—a familiar act between them from years of practice and banter.

Liam snorted, and Louis bumped his shoulder against Liam’s. Every word he said and every action felt new and awkward, like if he did them wrong Liam might disappear on him again, but it felt normal, too, because this was _them_. Them before Harry had mentioned anything, and them before Louis had stuck his foot in it by bringing it up at all.

Liam brushed him back with a little more force, sending Louis stumbling slightly—also nothing new. Liam was _built_ compared to Louis’ lither frame. “Well, maybe I missed conversations with your arse, too,” Liam said, and it felt like he was saying something different at the same time.

“My arse has been a bit of an idiot lately,” Louis said. He stuffed his hands under his armpits for warmth and stared at the ground. His eyes flicked up once to see that Liam was smiling a little more, his own hands shoved into his jean pockets.

“So has the person talking to your arse.”

“My arse accepts your apology and offers one of its own,” Louis said with a slight bow, and he let himself look up at Liam properly. Brown eyes that were sort of sparkling from the hall light, skin crinkling at the corners of his mouth as his smile widened.

“Apology accepted.” Liam nodded and Louis did, too.

They stayed silent a beat longer until laughter came from them both. Discussions of Louis’ arse had always provided endless giggles in times past and it was no different now. It petered out eventually and they were back to where they’d been after Louis’ mother had left, in an awkward silence that was punctuated by Liam shuffling his feet on the concrete and Louis sniffling. He had better not be coming down with a cold after staying outside for too long. He had a drama monologue due on Tuesday, and he couldn’t possibly sound like shit for that.

Eventually the stolen looks at each other and words that Louis wanted, needed to say to Liam came bubbling up, only to halt when they both turned to each other at the same time and said the other’s name. They stopped and stared, and then started again, and stopped and stared. Then it was Lou saying “You first,” and Liam being the polite bastard that he was, saying “No, you,” then Louis deciding yes, he would, and he was about to say. . . well, he wasn’t sure what because he still wasn’t sure why the weirdness had gone on between them.

He ended up not having to start anything. He was literally saved by a scream. There was a cry from inside, and Louis’ and Liam’s names called in turn from two different voices broke whatever it was that was happening between them. 

After they cleaned up a broken mug (Daisy) and Liam put a Barbie’s head back on (Phoebs), any expectations about discussing what had gone on or why things had changed between them disappeared completely. They were back to talking like they used to, laughing and gossiping a bit like a pair of old ladies, as Louis’ mum had referred to them before, and the weekend was spent watching movies and catching up. Everything and anything was on the table except three things: Harry, Zayn, and exactly what it was that had gone wrong with Lou and Liam in the first place.

It was a truce; tenuous at best, but Louis had missed his best friend and if playing ignorant of anything else brought him back, then Louis was willing to do that.

For now.

%%%

Time passed and it stayed fine between them. They went out, they saw some movies, Louis got into the drama department’s production of Bugsy Malone and he was busy with that. Liam was—well, Liam was never really _not_ practicing for boxing, so they were both doing—stuff.

Louis and Harry were back to being just friends. Liam still gave Harry funny stares sometimes, and because of everything that had happened in that month of not talking Louis had to spend a bit more time around Zayn than he ever had before. He hadn’t asked about Zayn, and Liam hadn’t asked about Harry, so Louis figured it was just one of those things marked “Not To Discuss re: The Month We Ignored” and he let it go. For the most part.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Zayn. He’d known Zayn for as long as Liam had. Zayn had come to school midway through fifth form, and he’d been new and shiny and even Harry had flirted with him, although at the time Harry was more baby fat and stuttering than he was now; amazing what puberty could do. Zayn was arty, always covered in some colour or creative substance when he joined them for lunch out on the grassy knoll or occasionally, when it rained and they ate inside, at the table that had been Liam’s and Louis’ and their ragtag rotating bunch of friends ever since they started attending. Zayn was quiet, which was nice considering when Louis was there with Harry and Harry’s band mates, things tended to get loud. So Louis thought it was good that Liam had someone he could hold quiet conversations with while Louis was loud and rambunctious. It was great, really, that Liam sometimes blushed and looked down to where Louis could only assume Liam and Zayn were holding hands or something, because he hadn’t risked a look and Liam hadn’t said.

And Louis couldn’t bring himself to ask.

So Zayn was lovely and Harry was . . . still Harry with his touchy feels, but that was it. It was just flirting and kisses on Louis’ cheek, and occasionally his lips when he was pretending to lick homemade spaghetti sauce off Lou’s lips. If there was one thing Louis’ mum could cook really well it was her spaghetti sauce, so it was no wonder really that Harry wanted to swipe it from his face. Louis ignored the look that Liam sometimes got if Harry sat too close or did something that bordered on PDA that would probably get them thrown out if they had a Head Teacher who did more than just wander around with paperwork, looking suitably scary to the Year Seven kids and the rest at large.

All in all, Liam ignored Harry and the way Harry was around Lou, and Lou ignored Zayn for the same reasons. A happy family they were not.

But they faked it all the same.

Until it couldn’t be faked any more.


	2. kiss with a fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little alcohol, a little confusion and a whole lot of teenage feels.

Louis was _fucked_. 

Harry had thrown a spectacular party at his stepdad’s bungalow and it had spread out into the field beyond. Someone organised a marquee. Earlier it had been Harry’s band entertaining the crowd but now it was some DJ type with a beat that almost rattled Louis’ teeth. He found himself on the outer edge, having just come back from a little trip with Aiden and Ed to Ed’s stash of herbal enhancements where he’d shotgunned a couple of times with Aiden and he was feeling, well, a lot more relaxed than he had for most of the night. He’d lost Liam early in the piece. They’d arrived together with Niall and Josh (who maybe _this_ time would work things out), and after they’d all got out of Josh’s car they’d pretty much gone their separate ways. Louis had caught up with Harry, helped out with setting up the band equipment, and generally been a menace to a too-serious Harry to get him to loosen up before playing. And Liam, well, he’d found Zayn smoking a cigarette off to the side of the house and that was the last Louis had seen of Liam.

But the lights were pretty coming from the tent and the sound was actually good, considering Louis knew that Harry would never pay for entertainment, hence his band playing every party. The one thing Harry _would_ put money up for was booze, so there was always enough of that to remind you that Harry’s band did sound all right—once you were sufficiently pleasantly inebriated. It was probably someone from school on the decks. Louis wandered in close, dancing through a few songs with Eleanor, who played Blousy to his Bugsy, and even Danielle who was a dancer in the chorus. Though he wasn’t with Danielle for long; she was headed to uni to major in modern dance and made anyone near her look like a puppet on a string.

Someone had set up a smoke machine on the stage and it blurred the view of whoever it was up there—although Louis was sure he could make out the familiar shape of Zayn’s quiff in the strange light. The music changed and the tent went quiet and then loud in the space of a song change, because whoever was on the decks started an amazing mix of Coldplay and some other song that was currently in the top ten, and the dance floor felt even more packed. Louis kept pushing on through, determined to get to the front where he’d seen a pocket of room. Not that he wanted to get in too close; he already felt like he’d dropped a stone from the heat and press of sweaty bodies, and he was maybe feeling more of a space cadet than usual with the amount of dope he’d smoked. He was nearly there when he saw a shape stand up behind the Zayn outline, the light turning the two on stage into shadows with white relief all around.

Well, then, maybe that’s where Liam was, too.

The thought made something sharp twinge and pulse in Louis’ chest, but he ignored it. He would be happy for Liam. He’d stop whatever this feeling was when he saw the two of them together and he _would_ be fucking happy about it. Louis had been shoved in the side a little hard a few times, his feet stepped on countless more, and at one particular point the school’s debate club champion had him in a headlock as he professed his love, while Louis made his way to the front. He kept moving forward; he had to show Liam that he was fine with whatever it was he was doing with Zayn. Louis could do that, at the very least. He could go up there and make nice with Zayn and maybe dance with the two of them and keep a smile on his face. It wasn’t clever; and all he had to do was keep it together. He’d prove to Liam that he was fine with . . . whatever it was Liam was with Zayn. And he would be. He would.

Really.

He didn’t much believe it himself, but he had to try. Liam had been great around Harry, mostly. And Louis had tried with Zayn. So if Liam decided to do something with Zayn, then as his best friend Louis would totally be supportive. That was all he could do, especially after Liam coming to his rescue the year before from some now-ex students who hadn’t taken kindly to an openly gay man being among those who _breathed_ the recycled air in the school grounds just the same as they did. It probably should have gone further than those boys getting suspensions and Liam detentions for a week, but no one had really been hurt. Liam had bruised knuckles and Louis had a nice shiner for a week, but the other boys? Well, they ended up with a few cracked ribs and one had split his lip enough to need stitches. So it should have gone further; the local police had been informed and most people at school didn’t care about who Louis wanted to share himself with as long as they didn’t have to hear about it.

Which suited Louis fine, because up until then he had nothing to be loud about.

Like now. He hadn’t been that understated with what he’d shared with Harry, and they hadn’t made a great deal out of it ending, either. Maybe Louis should have mentioned something to Liam, but their friendship had just started feeling normal again so he didn’t want to put a spanner in the works. It was the same reason he hadn’t asked about Zayn, because whenever Louis found himself thinking about the two of him them he’d find himself irrationally emotional. It usually ended with him being rather snippy at someone he shouldn’t, or worse. Getting detention during the week when he’d seen them whisper to each other in English and he’d somehow gotten into an argument about Hamlet and called Paula—their normally sweet and quiet teacher—an “insufferable know-it-all cunt” was one example. He’d apologised later but still wound up having to help run a Year Eights’ after-school study workshop for the remainder of term.

So if Liam had disappeared first when they arrived, in search of Zayn, Louis tried not to think about it. He tried not to wonder what they were possibly getting up to. It was a party, after all, and the Styles bungalow had bedrooms, the field wasn’t _that_ wet, and Zayn did have a car with one of those long, bench-type back seats. Maybe that was why Louis had smoked a lot more than usual with Ed and Aiden, and maybe it was why he’d mainlined vodka shots until he could feel them turning in his stomach when he thought he’d spotted Liam and Zayn snogging in a corner earlier. Maybe, if Louis was lucky, they’d buggered off earlier and the guy with the hair was simply that—a guy with hair not unlike Zayn’s trademark ‘do. Louis didn’t care either way. He didn’t. What he did care about was the mystery DJ and the friend who was standing close on stage and who looked familiar. Louis was a few people from the front now, and the stage lights were nearly blinding as he looked up until they spun out over the crowd in reds and greens. Louis kept his eyes forward and found that the Zayn shape was in fact Zayn. From the looks of things he’d been wrong about Liam finding Zayn; more like Zayn had found someone else.

A boy to kiss.

A boy to kiss who wasn’t in any way, shape, or form Liam.

Louis saw red.

Zayn was snogging Harry. Snogging Harry so hard it was almost indecent as they pulled back a bit so anyone could see their tongues. That was it for Louis’ patience. He was up and on the stage before he could even contemplate a safe way to _get_ up there. It was Harry who saw him first, and it was Harry who Louis missed with his right hook, managing to hit Zayn instead. Then there was the loud noise from the music playing and Louis could just hear himself over the white noise in his ears, saying, “Harry isn’t yours!” Which meant nothing really, but Louis would look back on that moment and realise that what he should have said was, “Get off!” Something that would have gone down better all around.

It was as if they’d entered some strange alternate time stream because everything slowed as Zayn landed on the floor below the stage, and Harry shot Louis a look before kneeling at Zayn’s side. Louis blinked, and in those few seconds as his eyes moved from open to closed, Liam appeared out of nowhere and was yelling at him. Well, Louis thought he was because Louis’ ears had gone funny. It was like when Liam put that shell to his ear that summer in Blackpool when Liam’s parents had actually taken time off, and Liam tried to tell him it wasn’t the ocean but just the sound of his blood pumping through his ear canal. Louis had argued and they’d actually been separated for a few hours. But that was a long time ago and there were no shells to be found so maybe it was the weed or the shock, but he couldn’t really make out what Liam was saying.

He wanted to say to Liam that he’d only been trying to protect him. Protect him from heartache. Protect him from what other people would say. Protect him from any type of hurt. But the words wouldn’t leave his mouth; the connection from brain to voice was broken by the way Liam _looked_ at him.

There was no thankful, appreciative shift of his lips; there wasn’t anything Louis would have thought might be there. There was just . . . anger. Liam and Harry lifted Zayn from where he’d fallen and lay splayed out on the ground and moved him into a better position, resting him against the booth the decks were built around. And all of what Louis had thought was rational rage at Zayn hurting his best friend dissipated, leaving him cold. Liam turned and all Louis could see was shock and hurt, neither of which was directed at Zayn. Liam got into Louis’ face then, and time stood still long enough for him to hear what it was Liam wanted to say. And it wasn’t a note of concern or a why. It was a simple “How could you, Louis? How could you?”

Louis blinked and his mouth opened and closed on words he couldn’t put into order and thoughts that wouldn’t form because Liam was angry at _him_ , and this . . . this wasn’t right at all. Zayn was forced to get up because his nose was bleeding again, and with one last disappointed look over Liam’s shoulder, he and Harry moved Zayn back to the house toward the light. Louis followed because he didn’t know what else to do, stopping only when Liam turned and glared at him. It hurt, it hurt having Liam look at him like that, so he stumbled to a nearby tree, pushed a few odd bottles out of the way, and sat, leaning against its trunk while and praying there wasn’t anything too disgusting under his arse.

Louis closed his eyes for a second, trying to put everything that had just gone on into some sort of order, but he couldn’t. Zayn was supposed to be with Liam, not meant to be kissing Harry, so it should have made sense that Louis was trying to help out. Not that violence was any sort of answer, but this was _his_ Liam. No one should have been allowed to do anything that would hurt him, and now all Louis could think about was how _he_ might actually be the one who had. The night drifted on and the sounds from the dance tent still thumped in his veins, bright laughter and squeals peppering the hum that existed while Louis thought and thought and thought some more until his stomach rolled with it all.

“Get up, you fuck.” 

Louis shook himself out of what must have been a near doze. It was Liam, and he was kicking at Louis’ foot.

Louis blinked and looked up. Liam stood there with dark dots on his once-white shirt, and it twisted something inside of Louis, knowing that Liam had been in the house looking after his boyfriend who Louis had _hit_.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Liam said. He offered Louis his hand and Louis stared at it probably for a beat too long, because Liam sounded almost nice and he shouldn’t have been. He was being all helpful and it was confusing because Louis’ knuckles still smarted from the actual physical _hitting_ of someone.

Of course, because of his confusion over all of this, he said “Of course I should have” before he realised that he was actually answering Liam’s question.

Liam shook his head and flapped his hand in front of Louis. “Come on, then. I’m taking you home.”

Louis felt like he was being given an out, and right then while everything was so mixed up and muddled inside his mind, he took it. He ignored Liam’s hand and pushed up from the ground himself; he forgot what hand he was using and winced because no one had ever told him how _fucking much_ hitting someone made your hand hurt. Liam just shook his head at the exaggerated “ow” that Louis let out and turned, not questioning whether Louis would follow, because _obviously_ he would. 

They made their way through the field, going around the side of the house and out the front to Josh’s car. Liam produced keys and opened the passenger door with an unspoken “get in”, which Louis did without question. Though he did wonder what Liam had had to go through for Josh to give up his car like this; Josh wasn’t known for letting _anyone_ near his pride and joy, not even Niall, and he _liked_ Niall.

It wasn’t a conversation for now because Liam was getting in and the door slammed, shaking Louis in his seat where he’d leaned up against the window. His skin felt all warm and the glass was nice and cool. Liam reached around him to pull at the seatbelt; normally Louis would have made a comment about all the touching but he couldn’t, because even he realised this wasn’t the time. They sat there in the silence of the car, more noticeable because of all the noise they’d been surrounded by before, and it was like this weight had settled over Louis’ chest. A weight that ached, and it was all connected to Liam and Louis didn’t know how to begin to shift it.

The awkward silence grew and grew, and even Liam turning the engine over and letting it idle did nothing to displace it. Louis continued resting his head on the window; the slight vibration from the car engine was almost welcome against the dull ache that had formed behind his brow. His high from earlier was wearing off, and even the slight buzz of alcohol still flowing through his veins was dulling, leaving this _sick_ feeling in its place. He knew Liam was waiting for some sort of explanation—or for Louis to just say _something_ —and when Louis _did_ speak it wasn’t exactly that well planned.

“I’m not sorry.”

Without turning to look, Louis knew Liam would be rolling his eyes.

“I’m not,” he repeated, and then Liam put the car in gear and turned out onto the road and it was the last either of them spoke as Liam drove them home.

Lou was nearly asleep when they made it into their street; Liam undid his seatbelt and helped him out of the car even when Louis tried to brush him off. He was tired, so tired, and his body wasn’t working the way it should to actually make it into the house, so he finally gave in and let Liam’s arm rest around his waist. It felt nice not having to think about where he was going to put his foot next, so he leaned into Liam a bit more and ignored the way Liam smelled like Zayn’s particular brand of smoke, orange juice, and that sweetness he’d always attributed to something that was Liam on his own. He _didn’t_ breathe in deep as Liam halted at the front door; he did, however, blink and open his eyes wide when he realised they weren’t actually at his place, but Liam’s.

Of course Liam’s parents weren’t home, and Liam—always thinking of Louis, obviously—was going to let him sleep it off there rather than both of them having to face the wrath of Lou’s mum if she saw Louis in this condition. Let alone what she’d say when she saw his hand.

Good thinking, really, on Liam’s part.

Liam shuffled them inside, then locked the door and dropped Josh’s keys into the little glass bowl on the sideboard before coming back to Louis, who he’d left leaning against the wall. Louis fell into Liam’s side and ignored how warm it felt to have Liam against him again, just stepped after his friend as they made their way through the front hall and up the stairs to Liam’s room. Louis was met by the familiar scent of teenage boy, but slightly cleaner and a lot fresher than his own room, as Liam dumped him on the bed, pushing on Louis’ shoulders until he complied and lay down. The glow-in-the-dark stars they had put on the ceiling in the shape of a gigantic smiley face when they were thirteen smiled back at him, almost smirking, and Louis smiled himself before closing his eyes as the grin turned into a grimace. He didn’t need a phosphorescent creature mocking him when he could do that plenty well himself—or have Liam do it for him.

“Liam,” Louis said, finding himself whispering in the mostly silent room. The air around them was broken only by the aerator from Liam’s turtle tank and the soft sounds of Liam breathing. Liam said nothing in return; the only reason Louis knew he was still there was that he felt Liam taking his shoes off, undoing the laces as he went.

“Li,” he started again as Liam swung Louis’ feet up, resting them on his the bed, and Louis turned himself so he was lying down the bed, not across it. He wiggled up until his head found the pillow.

“Do you want your trousers off, too? Or can you sleep like this?” Liam asked in a voice that was soft but devoid of the warmth that was usually there. It was as if he only asked because he was supposed to, not because he cared. This thought sent an icy poker into Louis’ chest and he bit at his lip. His eyes focused on where Liam wasn’t really looking at him, just looking at the space he inhabited in Liam’s room. In Liam’s life, maybe.

This was why Louis hated doing weed; it made him far too introspective on the come-down.

“’s fine,” he mumbled, finally finding his voice. Liam nodded and toed off his own shoes, before picking them up and lining them up with the others in his open cupboard. He closed the door and tugged his t-shirt off from over the back of his head, and Louis blinked because even with the dim light from the turtles’ tank he had never realised just how well-toned Liam’s body was. Louis let his eyes close a little and stared at Liam through his lashes as his mate shimmied out of his trousers, black pants with the yellow batman insignia shining bright before they disappeared again under Liam’s old training track pants. Louis smiled. He knew those in particular had holes everywhere, especially one rather large one in the crotch that Louis had cut into the fabric himself as a laugh.

“You know where the bathroom is, right? No throwing up in my bed or on my things,” Liam said, again not quite looking at Louis. Louis nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat that had only grown the longer Liam hadn’t _looked_ at him.

It was nearly tangible, this strangeness between them, and Louis hated it. Hated that it was probably he who had caused it, and he had no idea whether this was going to be another of those things they didn’t talk about, or if it would be something they didn’t get past. Then again, Liam had brought him home when he could have left him there, so maybe there was hope.

“I was defending your honour, you know,” Louis said softly, his brain obviously not agreeing with his heart that now would be the best time to stay silent.

Liam stared at him, blinking, and didn’t laugh at what Louis sort of hoped was a “Louis type” explanation for it all. Liam always laughed at Louis’ dumb jokes, and this didn’t make any sense at all.

Louis swallowed, and it popped his ears more than helped with the egg-sized lump in his throat that was growing again because Liam didn’t say anything in return. He cradled his sore hand to his chest before being able to focus on Liam, who was just staring at him, head tilted to the side like he was trying to figure Louis out. 

“What honour?” he asked, like he genuinely didn’t know.

“Your _boyfriend_. You know, Harry can’t have everyone. There have to be lim—limits.” Louis stumbled over the words as he yawned; it had to be the biggest admission and acknowledgement yet of what he thought Liam and Zayn were and what they were doing together.

Liam’s eyes widened and he rocked on the balls of his feet. He looked a little stunned, and Louis couldn’t figure out why. He was starting to feel sleepy now, all laid out and comfortable on Liam’s bed, but there was this _thing_ between them and he couldn’t sleep yet. Couldn’t sleep until he heard Liam say it was okay, that he’d done the right thing—well, maybe not that, but for Liam to accept Louis’ attempt at an apology.

Liam said nothing, only snorted. Louis yawned some more as Liam drew the old blanket up and over him. It smelled of dirt and dust and being _old_ in that familiar way because it _was_. It was the one they’d used for camping and as a sail on their pirate ship—even that one time as a cover for the mess Louis had made on the carpet in this very bedroom when he had decided to try that Mentos trick with a bottle of cola indoors, despite Liam’s reservations. Liam tucked him in lightly, a frown appearing on his brow only when Louis yelped a little because Liam’s touch was too much for his injured knuckles to bear.

“Go to sleep, Lou,” Liam mumbled. He stood up and put space between them; his voice was strained and it was such a shut-down that Louis hated it.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, almost pleading because he didn’t want Liam to leave like this. He didn’t want Liam to leave at all. Not with Louis’ heart feeling so heavy that he’d disappointed Liam by just trying to help out.

“I’m just going to sleep on the couch. It’s fine. This way you're closer to the loo, just in case,” Liam said, but he didn’t move any closer to the door.

He didn’t move any closer to Louis and the bed, either.

Louis pulled his good hand out from under the blanket and patted the mattress beside him. “Please, Li. Don’t go. Just sit with me a while.”

Liam was stared at the floor and it was like there was a war waging within himself, if the set of his shoulders was anything to go by, over whether to stay or go. Listen to Louis, or be free of looking at the friend who’d fucked everything up in one night with one fist and a stupid idea of doing a bloody good deed. Louis tried hard not to smile too much when Liam walked over to the bed, sitting just shy of where Louis’ hand was still there waiting for his return.

“I lied before,” Louis started, because he wanted to fix this, wanted to ease this hurt in his chest and this feeling of near shame that he’d brought upon himself. He’d never liked having Liam upset with him. It had happened so few times in all their years of friendship, and for it to happen twice in as many months was just too much. Too much.

“I know,” Liam said with a sigh. His hand shook as he reached up to Louis’ face, and Louis felt his whole body tense and then relax as Liam’s fingertips brushed the hair out of Louis’ eyes. The action made Louis’ eyes flutter, even more so when Liam did it again, and again, his touch light but reassuring, and that was all Louis needed.

“It’s just, he was kissing him—it wasn’t right,” he mumbled, and he wasn’t sure whether he’d only imagined Liam scooting in closer.

Louis could feel his eyes slowly closing, getting heavier. Sleep sounded so good no matter how much he wanted to talk to Liam, explain to Liam the whys and how he felt and an assortment of other things.

“He can’t just go around kissing your boyfriend.” Louis yawned, thinking he could hear Liam laugh. But he couldn’t have, because this was Liam, whose boyfriend had been getting thoroughly snogged by Harry, and it was no laughing matter. Liam should be angry, too, and Louis still couldn’t quite fathom why he wasn’t. It shouldn’t _just_ be Louis who was outraged by this; it should be the two of them thinking up elaborate plans to get back at both Harry and Zayn. Yet here Liam was almost consoling Louis—and wasn’t that arse-about-face?

But he was warm, and the solid weight of Liam at his side and Liam’s touch were like an anchor weighing him down. He was falling asleep, he knew that, only kept from falling completely by the touch of Liam’s hand on his face, his palm warm and encompassing as it cupped Louis’ jaw.

“He’s not my boyfriend, you bloody idiot. He never was.”

Louis tried to open his eyes at this admission, tried to pull himself free from the arms of unconsciousness that were dragging him under, but he couldn’t. And even in his dreams he wondered what exactly Liam had meant by that.

%%%

When Louis woke up the next day it was to find his head on Liam’s thigh and Liam nearly curled around where their bodies joined in a position that _had_ to leave him with more than a crick in the neck later. Louis had lain there for a good while just listening to Liam breathe and contemplating whether getting up fast or slow would be good for his already pounding head and slightly queasy stomach. His head was swimming with tiny chunks of memories from the night before. He knew he’d hit Zayn and that Liam was angry with _him_ over it, rather than about the fact that Harry had been kissing Liam’s boyfriend. Louis still didn’t understand that, and there was something else—something Liam had said before Louis had fallen asleep—but it was lost in that space between memories and dreams and Louis couldn’t quite get a handle on it. So he lay there and he may have let his good hand rest on Liam’s knee and he may have let his fingertips trace the round of Liam’s kneecap through a hole that had torn in the material years ago. It wasn’t weird touching a friend like this. Well, possibly a little strange when that friend was asleep and you were poking your finger in a hole that was gradually ripping apart as your touch shifted over knobbly skin formed over a scar caused when you’d pushed said friend out of a tree when you were eight.

It was weird; even Louis knew that. There was this _mess_ of feelings inside his head and heart. Lying there surrounded by Liam had been helpful in the past when he wanted to sort through stuff, yet now all it did was add to the swirl of emotions he currently faced—and not in a good way. Hitting someone wasn’t a normal reaction for Louis. He was pretty much a pacifist; he could hardly attend hardly any of Liam’s bouts because he hated seeing Liam hit. So for him to punching someone like he’d done to Zayn, with no real lead-up except the burning in his gut at seeing what Zayn was doing with someone who wasn’t Liam, didn’t make all that much sense. It didn’t matter that it was Harry—fuck, Harry would kiss anything that showed the slightest hint of interest. This Louis knew from experience. It was why he felt so strongly about it that Louis didn’t understand. Was it purely that Zayn was cheating on Louis’ best friend, or was there something else there?

Then there was how _bad_ Louis felt for about disappointing Liam. He could still see, still feel what it felt like when Liam looked at him afterwards, how Liam had looked but didn’t quite seem to _see_ Louis when they’d got back here in Liam’s room and talked the little that they had. Of course he should be upset that he’d upset Liam. Of course he’d feel bad that he’d made Liam have to leave the party, leave his boyfriend, just to look after his best friend. Christ, he was going to have to apologise for all of this forever.

Liam shifted, snorting a little in his sleep, and slid further down the bed so Lou’s head was now resting on Liam’s hip. His naked hip because as he’d moved, the thin track pants he had thrown on the night before had slipped down and now Louis’ cheek was pressed against sleep-warm skin. His stomach clenched weirdly. It was Liam. It was Liam and there was nothing strange about being in bed with him like this. There was no reason that Louis found himself turning his head a little just so his lips could press against Liam’s hipbone that jutted out a little uncomfortably against Louis’ cheek. It wasn’t weird. He just—he just . . . .

 _Fuck,_ what was he doing?

This was _Liam_. Liam who he’d whispered to about having his first wet dream starring Brock from bloody Pokemon (Brock had great hair and Louis’d always been attracted to a nice head of hair). This was Liam who he’d fumbled about having a first kiss with because they wanted to practice before going to Cher’s boy-girl party when they were ten. This was Liam who he told all his secrets to, who he knew backward and forward like he knew the lines in bloody Toy Story because Liam liked to watch it so much. This was Liam who he loved, and who he cared about and who he would do anything for. This was Liam who he talked to first thing in the morning and last thing at night and all the times in between; and this was Liam who . . . Liam who he—who he . . . .

Louis rolled to the other side of the bed, eyes wide and heart racing. No.

No?

He stared at Liam with new eyes, hearing Harry and his accusations loud in his mind. He couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be because, because . . . Liam was his friend and nothing more. Surely if Liam had felt anything, wanted anything different, he would have said. There would have been an awkward conversation, would there not? He would have shown Louis somehow—made Louis see—but there hadn’t been anything, had there? There was the touching thing, but that was just—them. It had always been them, just like Louis sleeping in the same bed as Liam was just a “them” thing. Best friends did that, right? Louis scrunched his eyes closed and breathed in slowly. He was being ridiculous. 

This was just residual feelings from alcohol and smoking more than he should have. There wasn’t anything between him and Liam that was more than friends. If he thought Liam had great lips, there was nothing to that, was there? When Liam took his shirt off and Louis’s eyes strayed to how his muscles shifted and moved under honey-coloured skin, that was just appreciating the hard work Liam put in with workouts and things, nothing more. If he hugged Liam a little more than what was probably necessary, it was purely because he liked the way Liam would lean in and breathe against his neck like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. It was a comfort thing, that was all.

“I can feel you staring.” 

Louis yelped, scooting backwards at Liam’s gravelly tone.

“You can’t even think quietly, can you?” Liam said, eyes blinking as he slid down the bed with a yawn, stretching his body out completely. Louis couldn’t tear his eyes away from how fluidly Liam’s body moved. Arms above his head, toes pointed, and his track pants drifting even further south, tight over the bulge at his crotch and—no, Louis wouldn’t stare _there_. That would be even weirder than how he was looking at Liam now.

“How are you feeling?” Liam asked. He turned onto his side with a grimace, rotating his shoulder as he did so, and the crack of bone movement made Louis jump once more. At this rate he’d be on the floor if he shifted any further backwards. The double bed wasn’t _that_ large.

Louis swallowed and shrugged and avoided looking at Liam at all. He felt like Liam could read every thought going through his head just by looking at him, and he didn’t want that. Not now that his head was filled with how good-looking Liam was, and _wow_ , was he defined in the stomach area, and—

“I—” Louis started. His voice came out all high and pinched as he thought about every possible answer he could give that didn’t have anything to do with how he couldn’t keep his eyes from his friend’s belly button and the trail of dark hair that went down. Or when he dragged his eyes up from there, just how brown and warm and nice Liam’s eyes were, and then he licked over his bottom lip and—

“I have to go” was what Louis meant to say, but it came out more as some sort of strangled cat noise and he was off the bed grabbing his shoes and running out the door.

It was only as he slipped inside his own house and leaned against the back of the door, breathing heavily, that he thought about how that might have looked. It wasn’t exactly the best of moves, but with the strange discoveries he was making in the light of day it had felt like the only option. God, had he really just run out on his best friend purely because he _looked good_ semi-naked? Louis made it with seconds to spare to the downstairs loo before the contents of confusion and feelings he didn’t really want to acknowledge (or the after-effects of too much alcohol) emptied from his stomach.

%%%

Liam didn’t mention anything when he saw Louis at school the Monday after, or the day after that, and soon another week had passed and nothing had been said. Then again, saying _anything_ would also have to mean that Louis had to _see_ Liam long enough _to_ talk. Which he hadn’t.

It wasn’t his fault end of term exams were coming up and he needed to study. It wasn’t Louis’ fault, either, that his mother was doing strange shifts in an effort to keep busy while his father was off to yet another bloody conference, this time in the south of France, so Louis was busy helping out with the girls. Then he still had his stupid study thing with Paula and the twats in Year Eight, and Bugsy Malone was in full dress rehearsal; so really it was a wonder Louis had time to scratch himself, let alone anything else. Especially if that anything else had to do with Liam and how Louis couldn’t stop looking at him in the few classes they had together, or peeking at him with a quick side glance when he spotted him in the halls. Or how he found himself eating behind the bloody Drama building with the strange emo kids that smoked like chimneys in an effort to completely avoid talking to Liam completely.

But of course that only worked for so long because as much as he’d avoided Liam, he’d sort of been doing the same to the rest of his friends, too. On top of that, he’d not yet managed to find the right time to talk with Zayn about his actions at the party. Not that there _was_ a good time, probably, but if Louis had to pick one, when it did happen wasn’t exactly great, either. 

It was another in a series of rainy lunch breaks where Louis pretended not to notice the stares from the tall, skinny kid playing The Smiths so loud in his earbuds that even _Louis_ could hear all about making a good man turn bad. Which really, if the way things were going with Louis at the moment, it wouldn’t be too long before he tried out the old black eyeliner and donned black skinny jeans and obscure, ripped band tees and started listening to Morrissey on repeat.

Then again, no, because he truly _did_ look awful with any type of eyeliner; the jeans, however, he could probably get away with given how fabulous an arse he had (Harry had told him so on _several_ occasions).

He was picking at the honey sandwich he’d accidentally grabbed instead of his own ham and cheese, which Lottie was probably now enjoying, and ignoring Elliot to his left, and didn’t notice Zayn at his side until it was too late to make an awkward run for it.

“So here’s where you’ve been hiding,” Zayn said by way of greeting, causing Lou to drop the last triangle of bread into a puddle at his feet.

“Shit,” he said in return—which was mostly about Zayn creeping up on him and hardly anything to do with the last of his lunch hitting the ground.

Zayn laughed and Louis crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back further into the wall in the hope that somehow the bricks would swallow him whole. They didn’t. He watched as Zayn pulled out a crumpled pack from his back pocket and tapped a cigarette into his hand before flipping it into his mouth and patted himself down in what looked to be a search for a light. He smiled when he found it, top left pocket of the regulation grey button-down school shirt he was wearing. The silence between them became almost a welcome thing as he lit up and took a deep drag, sighing on the exhale. It stayed that way for the next few puffs and Louis should have realised he was being lulled into a false sense of security because Zayn’s next words caused him to slip on the wall.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

Louis sputtered because—”Um, no, mate, I think you’ll find I do. I mean, I’ve been meaning to, honest, it’s just—”

“You’ve not had time? You’ve not been around? Don’t think we haven’t noticed you slinking off, Louis.” Zayn’s head was tilted up, his eyes sliding down under long lashes to stare at Louis as he spoke, forming four smoke rings at the same time. Talented bastard.

“I’ve not—”Louis began, but Zayn raised one brow at him as he sucked in another lungful. “I might have been. But not you. I suppose I wanted to talk to you on your own?” Louis finished with his words leading up as if he were asking a question.

Zayn shrugged, inhaling again where he’d cupped his hand around the rest of the cigarette, a gust of wind causing both boys to shudder as it whipped its way around the side of the building. Louis should have brought his jacket today, but the bloody weather report had said it would be fine—nothing about arctic bloody winds—so he’d come in his school shirt only.

“Seems I’m on my own.” He nodded at where Elliot still stood, nodding his head to what now was definitely the strains of Robert Smith whining through the silence.

“Right,” Louis said. He looked at the ground, trying to put his thoughts into some semblance of order because he knew he had to apologise, he just wasn’t completely used to the doing part of this idea. “I’m sorry about the party, about hitting you. But I’m not sorry I did it. You were kissing Harry, and as much as he’s not mine, you are supposed to be Liam’s. Or were. Or still are. I’m not sure on that.”

He stared at the black scuffmark on the top of his right shoe, rubbing at it with his left because that had come out a lot more jumbled than he had previously planned. He probably sounded like a dick with his accusations about the kissing thing added in there, too. From the sound of Zayn’s chuckles, though, he didn’t mind.

“Gave me a right shiner, you did. Harry liked it, though. Said it made me look less than perfect, less a pretty boy than normal, and he couldn’t stop touching me. So, guess I should actually thank you for that.”

And Louis was sort of gobsmacked, his mouth opening and closing of its own accord because it sounded as if what he’d done did was a _good_ thing when—well, it wasn’t.

“So as much as it hurt, I am thankful that you did it, in a way,” Zayn said, tossing the last of his cigarette on the ground and crushing it out with the heel of his trainer. “Even if things seemed to work out better for me than they did you.”

He was already walking off when Louis finally found his voice to call out and ask what Zayn meant. Zayn stopped and spun back around. His hair wasn’t shifting with the breeze like it should have been, and Louis wondered just how much product he had to put into that quiff of his to get it to stay up in weather like this. Zayn squinted at Louis and smirked. “Just saying that the thing with me and Liam—it’s a shame it worked out better for me.” He laughed, and just before he turned the corner he yelled back at Louis, “You really _do_ need to talk with Payne.”

The bell rang for their next class before Louis could even think about running to catch up with Zayn and ask about his flippant comment some more. He did think about it for the rest of the day; he even tried asking Harry about it when he came across him in the halls as school let out, but Harry just smiled and winked and said the same thing Zayn had about talking to Liam. It was frustrating as hell because Louis still couldn’t do anything about it—it was another afternoon he had to spend taking care of Miss Asher’s troublesome Year Eights, and by the time he’d got out of that after-school special and back home he hadn’t had a spare second for himself.

What Zayn referred to about the situation he had with Harry and talking to Li about it was at the top of Louis’ list of reasons he needed to speak to his best friend. Yet at the same time it was vying for first place with the reasons _not to_ to, because Louis was still trying to work out for himself _why_ it was that he was seeing Liam in a whole new light. Was it just because of what Harry was constantly prompting him to see that had made him think of Liam as something more than a best mate? Or was it the fact that after boxing at the gym he frequented Liam would walk home in a sweat-stained track suit, hair darkened from its usual blondie-brown and in an utter mess upon his head, and upon seeing this something would twist warm and heavy in Louis’ gut? Or was it the fact that their bedrooms faced each other, and if Louis had his light off and Liam had his on he Louis had a direct view into Li’s room to watch Li lift weights and do those strange arm curl things? Or was it because Liam did the same routine shirtless every night? Every. Night.

But it wasn’t just Liam’s body Louis was finding himself attracted to. Liam was funny, not in that “laugh out loud look at me” way that Louis was most of the time but that quiet type of humour that would sneak in through well-placed commentary and snark here and there. There was the way he cared about everyone he knew, from helping Fizz with her football skills (they both played striker) or mowing the lawn when Lou’s dad was out of town (another thing he did shirtless—maybe there was a theme there?). He volunteered every Christmas (and made Louis do it, too) at the homeless shelter where they’d help dole out dinner to all and sundry. He even went to church with his mother on those important events that every lapsed Catholic did and he’d wear a tie for his mum, too, even if it meant waking Lou up at hours far too early just to help him tie the damn thing right.

They’d always been like that, though. Doing things for each other, being there because they had each other’s back—big or small things, it was just a given. From the very first moment, when Liam was a shy seven-year-old hiding behind his mother’s legs; Louis had dragged him out and promised they’d be the best of friends and he’d look after him Liam. Which he had until they’d grown up. Somehow along the line there’d been a shift and it was more Liam doing the looking-after than Louis. Sometimes it was even, like when Jay had caught them looking at porn magazines when they were ten and they both remained completely closed-mouthed as to where they’d got them. They’d both been grounded for a week but hadn’t given each other up (Louis had sweet-talked Niall’s older brother into buying them with Liam’s birthday money that year). Louis had thought he knew everything there was to know about Liam. Every hidden secret, every like and dislike—everything.

But obviously not. Well, if what Harry and Zayn had both alluded to was true, maybe Louis didn’t know anything about Liam at all.

So Louis was left in this vacuum of wonder while he tried to keep his life turning—school assessment, being a good older brother and son, learning lines and remembering where to stand, and trying _not_ to slap Patrick O’Donnell around the ear when he gave Louis cheek every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon with Paula and her class. It annoyed him that he hadn’t really seen Liam since that night. There was so much to do in preparation for opening night and he heard along the grapevine (Josh and Niall, who had _finally_ gotten together at the last party) that Liam had an important bout coming up too.


	3. And It All Comes Back To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time management is a problem - until it isn't anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, the last of this took far greater time to complete than I'd hoped. Big love to Su for the beta and, well, **fr333bird** would definitely have looked it over but she knows how antsy I get when I get a clean copy back from Su and I JUST NEED TO POST THINGS when they are done. x

**[Part Three]**

It was the night before _Bugsy_ was set to open and Louis found himself walking home from school in the relative dark. The streetlights were on and the weather wasn’t too brisk, though he was wearing a jacket because the nights were starting to cool. It wasn’t until he’d thrown it on after rehearsal earlier that he realised whose jacket it was, and if didn’t that make something in his belly burst into warmth and his chest ache all at the same time. How he had any of Liam’s clothes mixed in with his own by now was a mystery; definitely a month ago it wouldn’t have been strange. Not before, when they’d practically lived in each other’s pockets, swapping clothes and—well, not shoes, because Liam refused to put his feet anywhere near anything that Louis had worn. Hygiene was his main excuse, but Louis knew it was really because every pair of shoes Lou owned ended up being ripe. He couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting to wear them, either. 

Louis sighed because that ache in his chest only served to worsen the more he thought about Liam. The more he thought about the little things he’d never realised he sort of liked—the differences between them and how accepting they were of each other’s so-called “flaws.” It made him feel almost guilty—that he’d never seen any of these things before. The way their friendship was so much more than that, closer than what most people had with people they called partner, or husband or wife. He missed that, missed Liam and the easy way they were with each other, and he missed Liam’s smile and his laugh and the way he’d groan when Louis was being particularly obtuse. 

He missed his friend, and yet he still had every excuse under the sun for not talking to him.

There were only so many times, though, that he could argue with himself that he was too busy. Too busy helping his mum out with the girls. Too tired after rehearsal to give Liam a call. Too busy studying for exams and too busy being _too busy_ to see Liam at all. 

Well, apart from that one odd time in the hall between classes, and that was a million different shades of awkward. Louis had been sent on a mission by his English teacher to retrieve a “bloody working OHT machine, for Christ sakes, they won’t upgrade our technology but we can buy the sodding P.E. department new balls, the buggering bas—Tommo, just go fetch us one, will you?” Mr. Marks had _issues_ , apparently. Louis had turned the corner, just idly walking with his direction in mind, paying little attention to where he was going because his feet knew the way, when he’d run into Liam. Literally. He apologised repeatedly, picking up the stack of papers that littered the floor and looking for his glasses at the same time because he’d managed to knock them off his head somehow in the process. He didn’t wear them often, only when he was tired or if they were using the projector in class (because Mr. Marks was right, the damn thing was blurry enough without the aid of magnification). 

His grin wavered when he finally stood back up and handed over the papers he’d put into a sort of pile in his hands, because Liam was standing there. Liam who it shouldn’t have been weird that he’d run into—definitely shouldn’t have had his cheeks pinking up and whatever other words he was going to say completely disappearing from his mouth. Liam just smiled but it wasn’t a _proper_ smile, not one that Louis knew, anyway, and took the papers from Louis’ hands. He also held up Lou’s glasses and Louis took them slowly, as if too fast a move might spook Liam (or himself). He whispered a further thanks and Liam nodded in a jerky movement and then it was just—awkward.

“How have you—”

“Sorry about—”

Then silence as they both sort of smiled and Liam shuffled his feet and Louis tapped his hand at his side in a relentless rhythm. It was ridiculous—they could (and had) talked about anything and everything for hours upon hours before. Now, they couldn’t even get a whole sentence out. 

“I should—” Louis started, nodding down the hall and not quite meeting Liam’s eyes. 

Liam nodded anyway, and from the angle at which Louis was staring at him he could see a slight downturn in Liam’s lips. “Me—me, too, I suppose.” He sighed and Louis nearly stopped and forced himself to say the words that were itching at the back of his mouth to come out. 

“Right,” he said instead. Not “Zayn said I should talk to you about the thing you maybe had with him and why he got the better part out of it” or “I think we need to discuss how hot you’ve become recently or how I’m just noticing that” or “Care for a blowjob in the loos around the corner?” 

But Liam echoed with a “Right” of his own and Louis just turned and ran, hoping Liam wouldn’t notice that he was running in the direction he’d just come from. 

Mr. Marks would just have to go and get his own bloody projector.

He didn’t seen Liam for the rest of the day, as he was hiding out in the library, of all places, because even behind the Drama department wasn’t safe any more, not now that Zayn knew about it. It wasn’t as if he expected Liam to come looking for him—he hadn’t yet—but Louis was always one to err on the safe side. Nobody would think to look for him in the library as Louis never voluntarily went in there under normal circumstances. There was just something creepy about the librarian, and Louis wasn’t exactly one to be quiet, even when he was trying to be. He had rehearsals until nine, and with his dad looking after the girls at home and his mother working until ten he ended up walking home. It wasn’t far—he and Liam had made the walk together many times over the years and their neighbourhood was fairly safe, so he wasn’t worried about being alone.

Well, he hadn’t been until he heard an echo of footsteps behind him. 

He tried not to speed up. Tried not to let his mind wander into all sorts of dark places where he got hit over the head and dragged into an alleyway and left bruised, battered, and broken for someone to find in the morning in a pile of garbage with only his feet sticking out, and oh god, how would his mother cope with that, and—

“Louis!”

He walked faster, because for some reason the thought that his potential attacker knew his name was even more frightening instead of reassuring him that it could be someone he knew. 

“Lou! Stop!” 

Then there was a hand on his shoulder and Louis most definitely did _not_ squeal like a girl. Because he was a young man. And brave in the face of possible danger.

Completely.

“Hey,” Liam said, one hand on his knee as he bent forward, obviously trying to catch his breath from the run to catch up, the other still on Louis’ shoulder, fingertips pressing in deep. 

“Hey yourself,” Louis said in return, standing even more still than was probably necessary because Liam was _touching_ him and they hadn’t even talked properly for so long and it felt—nice.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry.” Liam gulped and in the warm light from the streetlight across the way Louis could see a pink flush on Liam’s cheeks as he removed his hand from Lou’s shoulder. Liam jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. The purple JW hoodie looked all too familiar.

“That’s my jumper,” Louis said before he even realised he’d spoken. 

Liam looked down and his hands came out of the pockets only to toy with the hem sitting high on his waist. “Do you want it back?” 

Louis shook his head because, really, he had no right to ask—standing there in Liam’s own jacket, of all things. Plus, the purple hoodie was Harry’s, really; Louis had stolen it himself at a party one night when he’d somehow got vomit all over his own and it was cold. “No, it’s okay.”

“Okay,” Liam said, and a smile played on his lips for a minute before he spoke again. “Isn’t that mine that you’ve got on, anyway?” 

Then it was Louis’ turn for his cheeks to heat and he nodded, biting at his bottom lip. He didn’t trust himself to speak, because every time he’d opened his mouth around Liam in the past twelve hours nothing good had actually come out.

“We’re even, then,” Liam said, and Louis saw that his smile was back—if not a little hesitant and only lifting properly on one side of his face. Louis felt his cheeks lift in the same manner and when Liam tilted his head up the road and uttered a simple “Shall we?” he started walking again, unable to say another word. 

Liam soon caught up and their steps almost synchronised as they continued up the hill to their homes. It felt so normal, so regular to be travelling a path they had trod for years now, and even though Louis’ stomach was clenching tightly and he felt like every breath he took was too loud, it was nice. Soon the quiet between them became almost pleasant; it was as if the avoidance and the weeks of not speaking sort of melted away between them.

Of course, it wouldn’t last.

“Why are you out so late?” Liam asked after a significant chunk of time had passed with only the sound of a lone passing car breaking the silence.

“Rehearsals,” Louis stuttered. He had to clear his throat twice before he could answer without it coming out like a squeak.

“Right. Opening night’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Louis answered, and focused on the road ahead of them, not paying any sort of attention to his mate beside him and how close Li was and how he could smell the sweat and strange mix of medical tape and leather that meant Liam had been at the gym, training. He tried and failed because Liam did sort of stink and he was walking close and Louis had _not_ had some sort of secret interest in the scent back even back before he’d realised Liam was kind of beautiful. 

“You at training?” he asked eventually, because they were nearing the top of the hill and that was where their homes were, and he sort of didn’t want this moment of non-weirdness to end between them. But he didn’t want to talk about anything they _should_ probably talk about, either.

“Yeah,” Liam said with a sniff. His nose always ran after a particularly tough workout, and if Josh and Niall were right he had a bout coming up which would mean Paul and Simon working Liam harder and Liam doing everything they asked. 

The silence between them was a little easier after that. Until they got to the path that led up to Louis’ house, and then they were back to standing next to each other, immersed in a level of awkward that felt like a thick soup around them. 

“I should . . .” Louis said with a nod toward his door when he couldn’t stand it a moment longer. It had never been weird between them. Never this hard to talk or to joke or to just _be_ , and it was slowly driving Louis insane that he couldn’t find a way to make it better without addressing everything he wasn’t exactly ready to. Admitting to himself that he liked Liam in a way similar to the way he liked Harry, but more than that even, was a huge task in itself; but talking to Liam about it, with the potential to either destroy their friendship or build upon it, was a pressure Louis could live without. Needed to live without, because he had a series of shows on for the next week and he needed to concentrate on that, not on his failing friendship and fucked-up possible love life, and—no, just not now. 

Even if it hurt seeing Liam swallow hard and take a step back onto the road and toward his own house. Did he not want to clear the air, either? Was Louis the only one who felt the strangeness between them and wanted to fix it? Even if it wasn’t at that exact minute, Louis still wanted to fix it. 

“Me, too.” 

Then Liam was turning and Louis was biting his lip because he wanted to ask Liam to stay or just come in and they could watch a movie and he could spend the night. It was obvious with the lights out that his parent’s weren’t home, and he knew Li hated staying by himself in the house.

But Louis didn’t say anything. He just watched as Liam pulled keys out of his pocket and turned the lock in the door. 

Louis sighed and was about to head in himself when Liam’s voice rang out across the road. “Good luck—ah, fuck—I mean, um, break a leg tomorrow, Lou.”

Louis started to thank him but what came out was, “Aren’t you going to be there?” because this was Liam and this was Louis in a play, and Liam hadn’t missed any sort of _anything_ Louis had been in. Ever. Not since the beginning, when Louis convinced his mother to let Liam’s mum take him to church before Christmas _just_ so he could try out for the Nativity Play. Liam had clapped the loudest as Louis fluffed his way through being the best starfish in Doncaster history (because Liam’s church was one of those progressive ones that liked to give every child a chance to shine, even if it was with creatures not actually in the storyline). From then until last year when Louis had finally got a part with lines in the school’s production of _Grease_ , even if it was just the part of Eugene. 

Liam _always_ came, and to think that whatever this was between them was going to stop him from coming was—was enough to add a whole new weight onto Louis’ chest.

“I want to, I really do, but I’ve got a fight and it’s in Sheffield and I can’t—”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. See you then.” Louis managed to push out the words as he turned and fled into his own home, ignoring Liam calling his name. He raced up the stairs, ignoring the hello from his dad, and only allowed himself a second to breathe once he’d shut his door and thrown himself on his bed, face first.

He wasn’t going to cry. It wasn’t _that_ bad that Liam couldn’t make it. But as he swallowed and swallowed around whatever was clogging up his throat and making his lungs hurt and his eyes sting—well, he hoped whatever that was would be gone come morning because he had to sing, and even if it was to one less person than he’d thought it would be, there would still be a sold-out auditorium and people to entertain there.

The show must go on, right?

%%%

“It’s really full.” 

Louis shrugged. It was opening night, and while most of the crowd were made up of family and friends there were quite a few local dignitaries there, too, the local paper, and earlier someone had mentioned the possibility that the head teacher from one of the drama colleges down south might attend. Louis was less likely to believe that; he’d been in two opening nights at their high school so far and there had _never_ been anyone like that in attendance yet, and they’d had amazing actors in those years. Who did they have this year? Well, Louis didn’t feel he was worth a mention at any rate, and Danielle already had her scholarship put in place, so . . . .

“I mean _really_ full, Lou.” 

Louis turned from where he’d been peeking from the side of the stage over Eleanor’s shoulder and noticed how she was shaking. This was El’s first production and he knew what that felt like, but in all the time they’d been rehearsing she’d never shown a slight hint of stage fright. Now here she was—his leading lady, so to speak—looking like a scared bunny rabbit. He shifted behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, and guided her back to the space they’d been watching from.

“Can you see your family out there?”

She nodded. “Yeah, my parents, my gran and my aunt and my mum’s best friend, but fuck, Louis. It’s _packed_ out—”

“It is, but can you see _just_ your family? Like, focus on your mum, yeah?”

Eleanor’s breathing slowed as Louis held her still. “Remember how you were telling me she’s been to every play you’ve been in? All your recitals and even that dance thing you did with your best mate when you were ten?”

He squeezed her shoulders and Eleanor leaned back. At that moment Louis was kind of glad he’d grown up in a house predominated by females, because handling emotional crisis the likes of which Eleanor was currently in the grip —he could fix this with his eyes closed.

“She never missed anything. Never has.”

At her words Louis felt a pang in his chest, this tiny spark of hurt that reflected just _who_ wasn’t there for him tonight. While Eleanor continued babbling about some minor production her mates had put on for Easter one year, Louis’ eyes roamed back to the seats where his family were sitting, all three girls and his mum and even his stepfather were there. 

And one empty chair. Reserved sign still sitting on the seat.

Louis shook himself as Mrs Flack called them to attention at centre stage. He could have kicked himself, really; stupid idea, making sure Liam still had a seat. There were plenty of people who would have bought it. Plenty of people who would have sat there and enjoyed the show. Mis mother had mentioned that one of the girls from work wanted to come, but Louis had declined adamantly.

Liam wasn’t going to come. No matter how hard Louis wished it.

He gave the empty seat one last look and turned back to where Eleanor and the rest of the cast and crew were circled around, preparing to give himself entirely to Bugsy and his gangster shenanigans.

Even if part of Louis was far away at some smelly gym in Sheffield.

%%%

Louis was certain he had shaving cream up his nose, and it was most definitely in his ears. The last strains of “Give a Little Love” were tapering off and Louis couldn’t wipe the smile from his face if he tried. There was _nothing_ like being up there on the stage, harsh lights in your eyes for most of the time, barely able to see two rows of seats into the audience, and on two separate occasions tonight barely able to see _at all_ because of bloody Devlin shining the spotlight straight in Louis’ face and not bloody round him like he should have. There were a few goofed lines, a few times others forgot what they were supposed to say and Louis had to step in and fluff his way through it, but—it was good. 

Really good.

As Louis stood there and swayed, his smile stretched tight as he tried to sing around it, there was no other place he’d rather be. This was what living was all about, really: the rush of adrenaline once the lights turned up, the high from the audience reactions, and the parts where he forgot completely that he was just Louis Tomlinson, sixth form student with average grades and an even more average love life. He _was_ Bugsy Malone, and it was perfectly normal to avoid cream pies being thrown at you and talk in a New York accent that was, even at its very best, only passable. 

He caught Eleanor’s eye and she winked at him. Most of her hair and her costume were completely saturated in the white foam they’d all been throwing about. He squeezed her hand as they took their steps to the front of the stage, smiling out toward the raucously clapping audience, and only then did he let himself look up to find his family in the audience.

It was after he had to look a few times to find them that he realised what the problem was.

Well, not a problem, per se. More the absence of the Reserved sign.

His smile was wide, eyes crinkled so much it was a wonder that Liam could even see with how tightly they were pinched. His hands were a near blur until the moment he must have noticed Louis staring; then he had two fingers in his lips, whistling loud enough that Louis figured dogs down the street would be barking in return. He looked—he looked happy, and he was _there_.

Liam was there.

Eleanor tugged at Louis’ fingertips, signalling that they needed to turn to the side of stage and let the crew come out, and he followed. It was different, though, because he couldn’t feel his feet or legs moving, just kept seeing Liam’s face and the fact that he’d come. Eleanor was handing Louis a pie and nudging him back to their place but Louis couldn’t really tell if he was still singing his part or not. Liam was there and the fact that he’d appeared—his bout couldn’t possibly have finished in time for them to drive back and all—had Louis’ heart racing. Louis didn’t even care if he’d been there the whole time or for just the second act, because he was _there_. Liam had come, and whether he saw only the last five minutes or the last fifty, Louis didn’t care.

He couldn’t drag his eyes away from Liam and thinking of everything that seeing him there was doing to Louis’ heart and head. It was as if all the thoughts he’d had about Liam and what being true to himself would actually mean, admitting that he _liked_ Liam and he’d really appreciate it if he stopped snogging or doing whatever it was with Zayn, didn’t really matter any more. Liam was _there_

And all Louis wanted to do was get to him and say everything he’d been too frightened or worried to say before.

He didn’t even care when Eleanor got him with a pie in the face during the encore of “Give A Little Love”. (He did, however, manage to get that little bastard O’Connell with the last of his foam bullets when the backstage crew came out to take their bow; served him right for all the shit Louis took from him during that after-school study session Louis had been forced to help with!) No, Louis only had eyes for Liam, who was just staring back at him with what Louis hoped was the same amount of care and love that Louis felt for him now. The curtains came down before Louis was ready, and he had to blink a few times to remember exactly where he was. Eleanor was hugging him and then it was Danielle and Max and Robert and a blur of faces when all Louis wanted to do was get out of there and to Liam. 

There would be other shows to celebrate, other nights just like this where he could be an active participant in being part of the cast and how wonderful this was, but not tonight. Not now when he’d finally, _finally_ had that last piece of the Liam-and-Louis puzzle fall into place. He liked Liam.

Not like a friend—no, much more than that. As Louis finally was able to make it to the side of the stage and through the throng of teachers and stage crew and parents, his heart was just racing and his feet couldn’t move fast enough. He wasn’t sure if he was smiling or not any more; his head was just focused on one thing” _LiamLiamLiam_ , just like his pulse beats the very same _LiamLiamLiam_ in echo. He was about to turn the corner, close to where the changing area was, so he could get cleaned up and outside and find the boy every part of him wanted—needed to see, when a hand was clapped on his shoulder.

“Mister Tomlinson.” Louis had to stop because it was the fucking Head Teacher, of all people. The man who hardly paid any attention whatsoever to his students apart from when he was forced to. Of course Louis knew he’d _be_ here but did he really need to talk to Louis about a job well done, or whatever it was teachers said in this situation? 

Apparently he was wrong, and he was wrong about why the head teacher from the Drama Department of Sheffield College was there also. It wasn’t exactly to hand him a place on a platter, but there words like “watching your grades” and “maybe look into doing something in community theatre for now” and “scholarship” being bandied about. Louis listened but only smiled and nodded and thank-you’d until he managed to escape with the excuse that he _really_ needed to get out of his wet clothes. All he could think about was that Liam was in the audience, which meant he probably was waiting with Louis’ family to come home, or hopefully just waiting for Louis so Louis could finally say all the things he should have made himself say in the weeks leading up to now. 

Louis rushed past another three girls all calling his name and then throwing a “diva” at his back when he turned into the change room and it was empty. He’d expected a few people in there by now or for it to be buzzing with excited cast changing, but it was empty.

Well, sort of empty.

Sort of empty, but not, because Liam was there.

Liam with a six-pack of lager in hand, and he didn’t even drink. Liam looking so fucking adorable in his navy blazer and white button-down and his good jeans that Louis hoped Liam still didn’t know had a white stain on the arse from when Louis accidentally squirted his correction fluid onto them and couldn’t get it off, no matter how many times he hand-scrubbed them. Liam with his hair all soft and wavy and sort of defying gravity in height, which looked a little like Zayn’s handiwork, and Louis didn’t even have it in him to be jealous of that. Liam had obviously had his hair cut, which Louis hoped was evidence of his mum’s influence because she would flip if anyone else touched Li’s hair; his mum was after all, Louis’ largest contender for Liam’s heart. Then there was his face, his dark brown eyes just staring at Louis as he bit at his full bottom lip, and there was this fucking adorable hint of pink to his cheeks as he stared back at Louis.

Louis who’d probably been standing there, cream and foam dripping onto the floor, for god knew how long because he was completely stunned by Liam’s presence. So stunned the only thing he _could_ get out was a simple, “You came.” 

Liam blinked and shuffled his feet a little before looking up at Louis from under his long lashes, and Louis felt his stomach flip-flop because this was a look he should be familiar with. Christ, Liam had been his best friend practically forever. But this look? This was two shades closer to flirtation than Louis had ever felt coming from Li. Especially aimed at Louis. 

“Great show,” Liam sputtered, biting at his lip and going a little more red as he shook the cans of beer in Louis’ general direction.

It was sweet, so ridiculously awkward, even, that Louis couldn’t help what came out of his mouth next. “Thanks, but beer? Really, Li?”

The red in Liam’s face travelled down his neck and disappeared under his collar and Louis wondered if Li’s skin would be as hot under his lips as it looked. He had to swallow hard just to stop the drool from sliding out of his lips, and since when was Liam blushing a _thing_ for Louis to find attractive? He sort of wanted to push Liam to the bench behind him and sweep off the makeup lined up there and just grind up against him until they both came, and _wow_ , he really was into Liam. A lot.

Louis cleared his throat, blinked, and rid his mind of _those_ sorts of thoughts before speaking again. “Generally one is given flowers.” 

Liam nodded and pointed to his left, and there on the shelf was one gigantic sunflower. Louis couldn’t even hide his laughter. “Really?”

Liam shrugged and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You like sunflowers.”

Louis felt his face warm, and he was pretty sure the blush Liam had had going for him before had now transferred to his own skin, because he did. Sunflowers had always been something he loved; they were the first thing he’d ever grown when he’d thrown the bird seed from one of the girls’ ill-fated pets onto the garden bed instead of into the bin like his mother had asked and the flowers had just popped up almost by accident. He’d shown them off to Liam with such pride, claiming of course that he’d spliced them with some mega-version of the flower because they’d been looking at DNA and things in science that year. He’d always been a show-off, always trying to look good and clever in front of Liam. How had it taken him this long to see that he was interested in Liam and that Li was interested in him?

Liam looked back at Louis, his hand dropping back to his side, but his eyes, those warm brown eyes were just locked with Louis’ and he could feel it. The second where everything stopped and slowed and everything just _fit._ It was like every moment in every movie he’d made Liam watch for the “music appreciation” in the beginning and all the Disney movies Liam had made him watch “For the “CGI, mate.” 

This was a moment. This was a Liam and Louis _moment_ , and Louis was completely taken off guard. He finally managed to nod and added a soft, “I do.”

Liam was smiling. It didn’t even waver as he took a step closer, giving Louis enough space to walk away or be close enough that he could merely take a step himself and be right there with Louis. “And I like you,” Liam added, and Louis . . . Louis could not compute that.

He wanted to say something back straight away. He wanted to scream at Liam, “Fuck, yes, I like you, too, and I’d really like to taste your skin if that’s all right, because the pink around your birthmark looks delicious,” but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get a single word or action out because his tongue felt like it was swollen to the exact size of his mouth and his feet had somehow become superglued to the floor. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and Liam was _staring_ at him.

But he needed to, needed to give everything back and be as open as Liam was, and he nearly fainted when his breath came rushing out around the words “Me, too.”

Liam’s smile somehow became infinitely wider and brighter and Louis wanted to say more, wanted to say everything, but, “Oh fuck, why are you making this so hard with your eyes and your lips and your hair—your hair is too short,” came out instead.

“Too short?” Liam interrupted, knowing full well that when Louis was nervous or excited he leaned toward verbal vommitage as a coping method. Liam stepped closer still and there was next to no space between them. Instead of this making Louis’ rapid-fire talking worse, it seemed to just—dry everything up.

“Yeah, I can't . . ." Louis led off, because his hand apparently had a mind of its own, his fingertips brushing over Liam’s fringe and down his face, brushing behind Liam’s ear until he cupped Liam’s cheek. Liam leaned into Louis’ touch, and god, how had they got so close? 

"You have three freckles."

Louis had to blink a few times, check that he was in fact still breathing and that Liam really just—"No, I don’t!” he squawked, affronted, even, because Louis had freckles on his shoulders, on his back, and even one or two on the white skin of his bum—but his face?

“Yeah, you do,” Liam said in a breathy tone that Louis had never heard before. He was finding it hard to get oxygen into his lungs, himself, especially when Liam was touching the underside of Louis’ jaw. He pushed each freckle with a fingertip and counted them as he went, and then he was holding Louis’ chin. 

Louis had this rushing sound in his ears and his skin was on fire from the few touches that Liam had made and he couldn’t stop staring at Liam’s mouth. Liam was doing the same thing, if the one quick look Louis got when he dragged his eyes back up to Liam’s was anything to go by. Louis felt this tingling in his skin; every nerve ending was waiting on tenterhooks for what could happen next, and then Liam was leaning in, and ha! Louis could see freckles in Liam’s eyebrow. But he pushed that thought aside because Liam was hovering, waiting to see whether Louis was going to push him away, Louis thought.

But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t worry about this being a risk to their friendship and he wouldn’t worry about pretend boyfriends or sometimes fuck buddies, because Liam’s _lips_ and Liam’s _eyes_. And Liam.

Liam. Liam. Liam.

Without any further ado, Louis pushed up on his tippy-toes and just pressed their lips together. 

It was a dry, strange, chemical-tasting kiss that only deepened from lip on lip to mouths moving once Liam dropped the beer to the ground and took Louis’ face in both his hands. Louis wouldn’t be the only one not touching now, so his hands met Liam’s sides, fitting into that perfect curve between Liam’s hips and waist, and he just _held on_. Liam made this little grunt of approval, his thumbs pressed into the soft skin at either side of Louis’ jaw, and then Louis opened his mouth and Liam’s was _right_ there. Liam’s tongue was in Louis’ mouth and Louis could feel Liam’s breath play across his skin in rushed puffs as he gripped Liam harder and let Liam lick his way around Louis’ mouth with his own tongue as tour guide. 

They kissed and kissed, and a few times Louis’ teeth hit Liam’s and Lou may have made Liam gasp when Lou’s nails pressed into Liam’s skin too hard, but neither of them cared. There was kissing to be had and Louis liked to think he was rather good at it; then again, kissing Liam was something pretty amazing, so obviously Liam had skills, too. Liam slid one hand up into Louis’ damp locks and Louis sort of melted into Liam’s touch, his own hands sliding around the back of Liam’s torso, under his blazer and into the pockets of his jeans. He dragged Liam in close and gasped; apparently their kissing did something for both of them, if the hard-ons they were sporting were anything to go by. 

Louis wondered if anyone _really_ needed to come back to the changing room here of if he could convince Liam that sex at school was actually a wonderful, magical thing that could happen between two willing partners.

He was about to ease off and mention something along those lines to Liam when their kiss-a-thon was interrupted by the giggles and snickers of someone Louis knew too well.

 _”Mum,”_ Louis started resting his head against Liam’s shoulder as Liam laughed that little snorty giggle of his and Louis wondered why his life was what it was.

“Just coming in to check if you need a lift home, Boobear,” she said through more laughter, and Louis just wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He should have realised this would happen out of all the scenarios that played out in his head the moment Liam’s lips left Lou’s and started sucking and nipping at his neck. 

“Nnno, thank you,” Louis got out before Liam’s hand was on his shoulder and the other one had appeared at the small of Louis’ back, pressing him in close to Liam’s chest. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast, then!”Lou's mother said with what was a very badly hidden cackle as the door behind them shut with a click. Louis didn’t know whether to be excited that his parents were letting him get home on his own tonight . . . or freaking out that she'd said breakfast, as if she _knew_ what Lou and Liam were going to get up to.

They’d just had their first kiss. Did she really think they were going to— “My parents are staying in town all weekend, Lou.” 

Louis hoped to Christ he still had some of those free lube packets that the school Honor Society had given out three days ago. 

“Let's, let's go then.” Louis mumbled against Liam’s neck, and he knew Liam agreed by the way he ducked his head and nipped at Lou’s mouth until he opened it and then they were snogging again.

Not that Louis saw anything wrong with that.

Not at all.


	4. two shadows standing by the bedroom door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> walk with me to the edge of all we've ever known...

**[Epilogue]**

 

“Louis!”

 

“ _Oh, fuh-uhm_ \- Louis, _please!_ ”

 

Louis just quirked one brow, hummed a “do you want me to stop?” rather than asking it because his mouth _was_ rather occupied by Liam’s cock and stopping now wasn’t a choice he wanted to make – not even if Liam wanted him to. Well. Maybe.

 

Liam’s eyes rolled back into his head and his bottom lip turned white under the pressure of his teeth. Obviously, Liam was enjoying himself and didn’t _really_ want Louis to stop. Not when he was this close, Louis could tell by the slight shake to his thighs and the soft whiney noise that Liam made deep in his throat at times like these. 

 

There was a loud bang of a door slamming somewhere. It was probably the front door and as much as Louis loved teasing Liam to the absolute brink – Liam kind of had a point. Louis didn’t _really_ want the possibility of them being walked in on by his mum like this.

Once was enough.

Twice was embarrassing.

The third time was ridiculous by even Louis’ standards.

And he _had_ promised to be more considerate yesterday so. . . .

Louis doubled his efforts, hollowing his cheeks and sucking harder while he slipped his hand between Liam’s thighs. Liam’s hips bucked forward and Louis stopped – he was working on his gag reflex but Liam _was_ rather big girth wise and it was effort enough keeping lock jaw at bay at the best of times. 

“Sorry, sorry – but, Lou, your mu- _shiiiiit_ ” Liam closed his eyes as Louis slid his finger back behind Liam’s balls drawn high and then back further still. Liam whined what was probably meant to be Louis name as Lou circled his finger slowly around the tight pucker of muscle there without pushing in because Liam was still new at _that_ and Louis didn’t want to hurt him, just tease. It was usually enough to get Liam going at the best of times but with his cock already so far down Lou’s throat and Louis’ finger pressing in without actually doing much more than being a pressure there it was enough. Liam bit out Louis name as Lou felt that tell tale twitch of Liam’s cock in his mouth and he had to pull his head back quick just to catch all of Liam’s release on his tongue.

Liam’s head banged against the cupboard door twice before his knees gave out and he fell, pushing Louis back on the ground as he went. Louis was a little less graceful than he wanted to be, coughing and spluttering because Liam had knocked him off balance and of course, while he was wiping at his mouth the bedroom door opened.

“Lou are you and Liam – oh, well, at least you’ve both got clothes on this time.” 

Lou wondered if it was telling or not that his face didn’t burn as much as it had the last time his mum had found them like this and figured that he’d worry about that if and when he _didn’t_ blush at all. Liam, of course, was full of apologies and Louis could only gather enough of his own wits to get out a “For the love of all that is holy mother when will you learn to _knock!_ ” over the top of Liam enough to quiet his boyfriend before Lou’s mother shut the door snickering away to herself. 

Louis sat up and half-heartedly glared at Liam – because really, this was all his fault in a way. Well, in many ways but there was always a reason. Louis congratulated himself on at least making use of Liam’s jogging trousers today that were loose off Liam’s hips at the best of times so it did actually look like they’d not been doing anything other than lay about in Lou’s room. Which – they did well before the “boy” was added to the “friend” part of their relationship and Lou’s mum could interrupt without finding anything amiss.

“That was close,” Liam said, wiping his hand through sweat soaked hair and _Christ_ Louis couldn’t wait until next month when they’d finally be living in their own space. Then moments like these where he just wanted to push Liam back and have his way with him on the floor wouldn’t have the possibility of awkward timing with Lou’s mother and her uncanny ability to interrupt any sexy times. 

Louis nodded, and crawled over between Liam’s outstretched legs, his lips poised right above Liam’s because sometimes he just needed to _kiss_ Liam, purely because he could. He smiled and Liam did that shy grin back at him that _shouldn’t_ have affected Louis now as much as it always had. He leaned forward anyway, and was just losing himself in the way Liam used his tongue to near search out all the taste of himself in Louis’ mouth when there was knock on his door.

“Might want to see to your hair before you come down for dinner, Boobear. Got a little spunk in your fringe, don’t really think your Dad and sisters really need to see that.”

She was cackling then and Louis found himself repeating the number of days until he was finally free from his mother’s strangely supportive commentary on his sex life while Liam just groaned and not in the good way Louis was accustomed to.

“I’d say sorry but,” Louis started with a shrug, leaning into Liam’s chest and resting his forehead on Liam’s collarbone, the thin grey sleeveless shirt Liam always wore to training exposing the now fading love bite Louis had made there (and in several other places) a few days before.

“’s’alright. Could have been worse, could have been at mine,” 

Louis chuckled while Liam’s large hand rubbed slowly up and down his back comfortingly. Liam did have a point. The first time Liam had ever blown Louis anywhere outside either of their bedrooms and the handful of times Louis had managed to convince Liam it was okay to use Mrs. Horsham’s office before they finally left school, had been in the Payne’s kitchen and on one of those rare weekends Liam’s parents actually came home.

Neither of them had been able to look Liam’s mum in the eye for ages after. Lou _still_ couldn’t meet Liam’s dad’s. Louis had been clutching at one of Liam’s dad’s beers at the time and he had dropped it in shock when he spied the Senior Payne’s entering the room. The beer might have fizzed all over Liam’s dad’s brand new shoes and on his favourite coat and Mr. Payne was even more pedantic about his clothing than his son was.

But Louis figured they’d both forget about it one day.

Well – maybe after Louis and Liam had lived in Manchester for a little while. Surely they didn’t have to come home for every holiday – three years of university was long enough to forget about seeing your son sucking off his boyfriend wasn’t it? 

Maybe Louis had better look into doing a masters in _something_ to put the incredibly dirty talk he was near shouting about said son sucking said boyfriend’s cock behind them both, too.

“Three weeks, and we’ll never have to worry about your mother interrupting again,” Liam said and Louis smiled against Liam’s heated skin. It was nice in these moments knowing that Liam was in the same headspace as himself.

After all the time it took them to get together – Louis learned to appreciate the small things like how in-tune they were with each other without really needing to speak a word. Louis kissed his way up Liam’s neck and nibbled on his jaw before Liam tipped his head down and they were snogging once more. It was nice how easy it was to do this now. How Liam knew just how tight Louis would want to be held and Louis knew just how to tilt his head so he could press his tongue in a way that had Liam softly moan. 

All the time they’d wasted not realising what they could have had together. And by they, it was really Louis.

Those months where Louis’d been with Harry – and he could have had this, this amazing thing that he had now with Liam. While Louis’d worried about Liam and Zayn and what _exactly_ they were doing while shut away in Liam’s house – he’d needn’t have, because a snog without tongue even was the most that had occurred between them. Liam admitted he felt he couldn’t do any more than that purely because it felt a little too close to cheating. Even if he _wasn’t_ actually involved with Louis, it just wouldn’t be right.

Louis liked to say Liam was saving himself for Louis. Liam didn’t really argue about it, just flushed red and kissed Louis to shut him up every time he mentioned it.

The night after the show, Liam and Louis had walked home and they’d held hands and said nothing to each other all the way from the school to Liam’s house. Nothing, even when they were inside Liam’s room and nothing, until Liam had virtually shoved Louis at the shower with the pyjamas Louis always had as a spare pair for when he spent nights at Liam’s house. It was only when Liam had had a shower, too, and both boys were sat cross legged on Liam’s bed across from one another with nothing but the full moon in the window providing light to see each other’s faces that either of them finally spoke.

Liam had told Louis all about “the plan” – which, Louis found hilarious that they didn’t even have a proper label for – really, “the plan”? That wasn’t exactly inventive and clever was it?

Liam had leaned over then and cupped Louis cheek and pressed their mouths together for a bit until Louis was out of breath and then Liam smiled and continued talking.

Funny how he already knew _exactly_ what would shut Louis up. It used to be food – but now they’d moved up a level relationship wise, snogging was much more appreciated.

So it was then Louis found out that Zayn and Liam had talked that night toward the beginning of the year at Harry’s party where Louis had questioned Liam on how close they were. Zayn had figured out that Liam liked Lou and offered to help out with making Louis see what was right in front of him. The dates had been fake and in reality – every time Zayn’s car was outside the Payne household – it was because they’d fallen asleep studying together. Liam had never had better grades in English because of it. 

Louis finally got it out of Liam how exactly he managed to make it to Lou’s show. It was with head bowed and his fingertips brushing over the soft, worn material of Lou’s sleep pants on his thigh that Liam opened up. Apparently, they’d driven halfway to Sheffield and then Simon had just stopped the car and said to Liam “either you want to go to Sheffield, or you want to go to your boy’s show,” and Liam just asked Simon to take him back, and that was it really. A quick drop in at home for his clothes and when he got back in the car, Simon had got the lager and Paul had picked up a flower from his florist mate and that was that. 

“They said I wouldn’t have won anyhow, would have just let the other bloke beat me to a bloody pulp. My head might have been in Sheffield, but my heart was on stage in Doncaster,” 

Louis didn’t have much to say to that, he just kissed Liam so hard they fell back onto the bed and pretty much fell asleep snogging. Even Louis could forgive the hesitant look Liam had given him in the morning when they’d woke tangled up together with lips chapped, bodies pressed together so there was little to no room between them. The last time they’d been in a position like this – Louis had run. But not this time.

No, Louis had simply raised his face to press his tender lips to Liam’s and the kissing started up again until grinding their bodies against each other became something new to enjoy.

Then had come blow jobs because Liam wanted to go slow and that had been fine for Louis because he was still rather spinning from how much he _liked_ Liam. If Louis had expected a reaction at school amongst their friends at their relationship development when they returned the following Monday – he didn’t get it. There was barely a batted eyelid when they’d walked in hand in hand and conversation continued when Louis stopped Liam in the middle of the hall and smacked a kiss on his lips that involved a lot of tongue, not realising that the Head Teacher was right behind them.

It should have been telling what an idiot Louis had been not seeing how much Liam had kept hidden when the bloody head teacher clasped your boyfriend on the shoulder and said, “about bloody time there, Payne and Tomlinson!”

Things had progressed pretty easily for them both really. They’d applied for Uni at the same places or one’s that weren’t so far from each other. Then they’d gone off to Manchester to check out the school grounds and things and the Payne’s went with them which was – kind of annoying considering Louis had _plans_ on taking things further with Liam that weekend. It was even more annoying when the one day off the boys had from proper school study stuff – Liam’s parents had made them come for a drive to look at houses. This had all of Louis red flags going up because _of course_ the Payne’s would choose _now_ in their sons life to actually pay some sort of attention. So Louis was winding up to some epic sort of speech related to that by the time they were pulling up to the fifth house of the day when it all sort of disappeared the moment the car stopped. 

Louis fell in love with the place on first sight, it was a little dingy and a little dirty and not at _all_ where he’d imagine Li’s parents being happy to live at all. They’d wandered back to the cosy little kitchen and Li’s dad was going on about how it could do with a lick of paint and it’d be all right, and Li’s mum was smiling and saying how close it was to their uni and it was still a nice area and it clicked. There were rules of course, and seeing as it was a three bed flat they’d expect the boys to let out the other rooms if they wanted to make rent every month and something about keeping it clean and such but, yeah.

Basically: welcome to the family officially Louis, here’s a love nest.

It should have probably been strange that their families were so accepting of Lou and Liam’s relationship development but if the little things Lou’s mother and Liam’s family hinted at were anything to go by, they’d just been waiting for it really. 

Had _everyone_ but Louis known about Liam and his crush?

Not that Louis really cared now. Not with how it all really worked out in the end. He had Liam, he had managed to somehow keep Harry as a good mate and it was all rather lovely really. 

%%%

It was the last weekend Liam and Louis were going to be home before heading to Manchester, so of course there was a party, and of course, it was at Harry’s.

They’d been to plenty of these since getting together. Plenty of nights spent at side of stage hearing Harry sing but not really paying attention because they were so wrapped up in each other. Tonight though, tonight was different with it being the last in a long time that they’d all be here and it felt like one of those “moments” that Louis was so keen on cataloguing before they left for Uni.

(The others had been mostly what sexual adventures he could convince Liam to participate in all over the school grounds and once in Louis’ dad’s old car that they’d borrowed to go see a band in Sheffield).

Louis was finishing off the bottle of beer he’d been nursing since they walked into the party an hour or so ago and made their way around chatting with Danielle and a little with Josh and Niall. Not that they’d talked with the latter too much – it was near impossible to pry the two of them apart now they’d gotten together, it was pretty much snogging twenty-four seven between the pair. Lou and Liam had wound up at what Liam had called “their spot” and were quite literally wrapped around each other as they watched Aiden and Matt fiddle with kit and cables.

“’right, Li? Lou?” Harry said, nodding at both boys as he walked across the front of stage to where Zayn was sat at the side, guitar sat on his lap and his normal quiff flat and sort of floppy across his forehead. 

Zayn handed Harry his guitar, and a smile lit up Harry’s face as his fingers brushed against Zayn’s. It should have been nothing, but it was the way Louis caught their fingertips still curled around each other once Harry had moved the guitar away that said everything. 

“Didn’t expect that,” Louis said, his lips nestled in the soft space under Liam’s ear, but it was loud enough for Liam to hear over the scattered voices and Aiden and Matt checking whatever it was they checked before Harry started singing. 

“Expect what?” Liam said in return, the tip of his nose brushing against Lou’s. Louis had to fight not to roll his eyes into the back of his head when Liam gripped that little bit tighter at the back of his neck. 

“Those two.” He nodded up at the stage where Harry was smiling at Zayn, who sat on a crate at the side of the stage, his legs parted as he grinned back at Harry, his hands busy tapping some beat or other on the side of the plastic under him. 

Liam laughed. His hand slipped down from Louis’ neck to curve around his shoulder, pulling him in tight. “You really are _that_ oblivious, aren’t you?”

Louis bumped his hip into Liam and turned his head from where he’d been nuzzling at Liam’s neck, again, and faced front. “I am not! I figured out you were worth more than just a cursory look!” 

“Louis, it took us nearly not having a friendship at _all_ for you to figure out _anything_ ,” Liam said with what Louis knows was affection but there was truth underneath it so he curled into Liam’s side a little more, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against Liam’s

“Well, it didn’t take me _too_ long,” Louis near mumbled, turning his head to nip at Liam’s chin before soothing it with his lips, only to have Liam duck his head so their mouths met and Liam’s tongue slipped in and Louis forgot what they’d been talking about.

“Even your mum knew before you did,” Liam said once they’d gone back to watching Aiden and Matt argue over the right sound or something for Aiden’s guitar and those two were _always_ worth watching because usually something ended up being thrown and storming off occurred.

“My mum?” Lou asked, turning to face Liam, arms crossed over his chest as a twisty awkward feeling starting to building in his gut. It replaced the beer and all around warm lovely feeling that being anywhere with Liam produced.

“Yeah,” Liam laughed almost nervously, his hand sliding up and down Louis arm in his attempt to bring Louis in close from where he’d stood still, a little frozen at this revelation. 

“Jay’s known forever about how I feel,” Liam said all soft and with his warm brown eyes half hidden by dark lashes as he looks down at Louis. “Do you remember,” he started, prying at Louis fingers until he held both hands in his. “Do you remember when we were about thirteen or so and your mum sat us down and had _the_ talk?”

Louis nodded because, yeah – that was one talk he really could have done without considering it was all covered at school and it was his _mum_ showing them how to put a condom on a banana and she giggled the entire time. 

“And you remember how she kept me back after and let you go get us ice-cream and how I never actually told you what she said while you were gone?” 

Louis nodded again and squeezed Liam’s hands, swinging them slightly, “Yeah, and she never said either. I figured it was to do with girls considering she’d already figured out I liked boys before I did,”

Liam’s cheeks reddened as he cleared his throat, “Well, she pretty much said if you were ever to hurt me, she’d consider disowning you,” 

“I always knew she liked you more than me,”

Liam leaned in close, rubbing his nose against Louis’ who was feeling a little put out that his mother would think _he_ would be the one to hurt Liam. Then again – he _did_ actually do that with how bloody long it took him to wake up to what Liam felt and what Louis wanted in return.

“Nah, she said she’d cut off my balls if I ever made you cry,”

“Good,” Louis said, turning his head a little when Liam leaned in for another kiss, his lips ending up on the corner of Louis mouth instead. Liam sighed and just let go of Louis to put his hands on Louis hips and pull him closer.

“Didn’t you wonder why she had me stay over more often? Didn’t you think it was weird that she had me come stay when you had the house to yourself?”

Louis shrugged, resting his hands on the tight muscle just below Liam’s shoulders – the gym did wonderful things for Liam’s biceps and triceps and whatever else made up his upper arms. “No, she said you were lonely and that it would be nice for me to have someone to talk to,”

“Or maybe when she gave us both those gigantic boxes of condoms last year for Christmas?”

Louis reeled back a little, “That was to be safe!”

Liam rolled his eyes and groaned, “Even when she gave us “the talk” together – you didn’t think it was weird that she never mentioned us being with anyone else? It was all when _you two_ decide to take it to the next step and when _you two_ decide it’s time? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Louis eyes widened with realisation and he planted his face in Liam’s chest because, “Oh my god, she gave us her _consent_. My own _mother_. . . .”

He felt Liam shrug and his arms slide around Louis’ waist and Louis breathed in the familiar scent of the body wash Liam used and Mrs. Payne’s laundry softner and everything else that was Liam that made him feel happy every single time.

“Yeah, well, Jay’s always known how I felt.”

Louis nodded and let the montage of times his mother mentioned his and Liam’s names in the same sentence and those smiles she _still_ got when she walked past them on the couch together and fuck, all the times she’d walked in on them play over in his mind and . . . .

“Liam!” Louis yelped, pulling out of Liam’s embrace enough to pound his fists on Liam’s arms, “That means my mum has basically said I was free to fuck you since I was thirteen. _Thirteen!_ ” Loius could feel his eyes widen with that little realisation and Liam flushed, dropping his head down, eyes fixed firmly on the floor between them.

“That’s weird isn’t it? It’s weird.” Louis’ head was spinning with this new information and he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it.

“Yes and no,” Liam said quickly, shuffling his feet and staring resignedly at the floor.

“Thirteen,” Louis breathed, shaking his head. They were silent for a moment, Harry yelling at Aiden and Matt to get back on stage breaking up the moment. Louis let out a long breath and slid his hands back up Liam’s arms and curled his fingers in Li’s hair. “Hey, Liam, does that mean you’ve liked me since then?” Louis asked with a tease to his tone but also – really? Since they were _that_ young?

Even in the shitty light from the disco ball above, and whatever “mood lighting” Aiden had set up on the stage – Louis could make out the red on Liam’s cheeks. 

”Oblivious. Totally oblivious,” Liam said as he pressed their lips together and kissing Liam became far more important than worrying about how long Liam had pined away for a best friend that may never have actually realised what was right in front of him. Thank goodness he did.

Eventually the kiss petered out and Louis shifted until he was tucked in his favourite spot, right under Liam’s arm that was wrapped around his back, hand resting on Louis’ shoulder. ”Not now though,” he said in almost a whisper.

“No,” Liam said in return, “Not now.” His hand moved to cup the back of Louis’ neck in a way that was such a normal event between the two of them that Louis leaned into his touch, Liam’s breath hot against Lou’s ear, “Now shh, your Harry’s playing,” 

Lou didn’t hesitate to turn and correct Liam, blue eyes finding the warm depths of Liam’s brown ones in an instant. 

“He was never mine, really, but I am yours.” Louis said all soft but assuredly and Liam smiled, his thumb pressing lightly on the back of Louis’ neck now a warm weight that Louis revelled in. As he tilted his head to join their lips, Harry started belting out the words to some song that neither Liam or Lou would remember – but Louis would never forget the times they kissed like this.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a MASSIVE thank you to all of you that have read and left kudos and such since I started posting this - got lost before the end and then FINALLY found mojo to get the ending RIGHT. Shrew, i owe you for not letting me forget important bits.
> 
> xx Boo


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